


The Gift of the Dark

by Bones (doctorbones)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Will Graham, Blind Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Single Parent Will, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 123,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbones/pseuds/Bones
Summary: Hannibal didn't know about the little girl in the apartment before he murdered her father, but he let her live.Will thinks the Chesapeake Ripper spared this little girl because she's blind and only knows him as the "funny man."And four years later, Will's sitting in Hannibal Lecter's office, with his daughter and the "funny man" on his mind.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 405
Kudos: 900





	1. Chapter 1

It was an oversight, a detail missed in the great game of chess. She stood in a little yellow dress. Her tiny hands clutched the bottom of it. Big brown eyes stared into nothing, glassy and unseeing. Bruises covered her arms, a sharp contrast to her fair skin. A split in her lip had a purple splotch around it. Her dark hair hung messily around her round face. She didn’t seem particularly concerned about her father’s misshapen body on the kitchen table. 

The man was a bagger and had bruised all of Hannibal’s apples with his carelessness. He probably had shown his daughter the same care. Hannibal had darkened the offender, creating dark splotches over his skin such that the figure left over hardly resembled a man anymore. It seemed more fitting now. 

A cooler sat on the table, containing the bagger’s heart. Hannibal set it on the floor to keep it out of the way and held out a hand to the little girl. She didn’t react at all, her eyes tracking the movement unsteadily. Not completely blind, but close then. He verbally called her forward, and she stepped out from the doorway to come closer. He crouched down to her eye level, curiosity rising in him.

“You made Ba into something else,” she said, eyes squinting in concentration. “He’s not yelling.”

Hannibal glanced at the body on the table. “He won’t yell ever again.”

She smiled and then flinched when the expression tugged at the cut in her lip. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He looked over her tiny form. She couldn’t have been older than six, but she was still old enough that she could remember and identify his voice. Still, killing children didn’t sit well with them. They were pure and malleable, like fresh clay.

And this could be interesting.

“Would you help me with something?” he requested. “I’d like to make some art.”

Her brows rose. “Art?”

He nodded and stood to grab a mug from the counter by the sink. She flinched when he dropped the ceramic on the floor, shattering it into sharp pieces.

“We’re going to make your kitchen into something else,” he said and pulled a plate from the sink to give to her.

She stared at the dish a moment. “Like Ba?”

He nodded. “Like your ba.”

Without further preamble, she slammed the plate on the floor. He smiled, a thrill of anticipation at what she’d become thrumming through him.

With any luck, they’d meet again.

#

“I drugged him,” Will murmurs over Hong Yuan’s body. “He can feel the pain. I want him to feel the pain. But he can’t scream.”

He brings the hammer down on Hong’s hand, eliciting a musical assembly of cracks. Over and over, he swings the hammer. The bruises form faster from the blood thinner coursing through this pig.

“I want the outside to look as messy as he is,” Will continues. “His carelessness damages what should be handled with care, and his enmity toward that which isn’t his makes him feel justified in his inadequacy. He is disgusting.”

Will slams the hammer into a cheek that gives too easily.

“He should look it.”

It’s a while before he stops hammering. Hong Yuan is nothing more than a bag of broken bones and bruises, but his chest has been left mostly intact.

“The rest of him is unfit for consumption. I have to cut off the bruised parts to get to the good portion.”

He cuts through the chest and rips open the ribcage. Cutting out the heart is quick. This isn’t a ritual, just carving out meat. No fanfare needed. 

Will’s thoughts abruptly stutter. Something unforeseen happens after he puts the heart away. But what? It doesn’t actually matter. He goes through the kitchen and breaks every dish upon the floor. A mural of messiness and harmful carelessness forms before his eyes, glittering with sharp edges and blooms of red.

“This is my design.”

The pendulum swung, and he came back to himself like a square peg forced into a round hole. The fit wasn’t right, spaces occupied incorrectly in his own mind. He blinked and took his glasses off to rub his face. The friction on his skin, coupled with the absence of visuals, eased him ever so slightly. The square peg rounded a little.

When he opened his eyes again and put his glass back on, he was met with the gruesome scene. FBI personnel crawled through the apartment, taking pictures of the cramped kitchen and Hong Yuan’s remains. Jack stood nearby. His eyes were on Will as he waited for the information only the empathic FBI profiler could provide.

“It’s the Ripper,” Will said softly. “This is the last of his sounder, the third.”

Jack nodded, as if expecting the confirmation. “Anything we can use to identify him?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? “I don’t have anything new to tell you, Jack. He’s...meticulous.”

Jack had that grimace that he got when he was displeased, but he didn't push. This was what they were expecting when they got the call.

Something wasn’t sitting right with Will. He glanced at the floor, among the shards of ceramic. There was a spot by the kitchen table that seemed too bare. It was...imperfect. Something happened that wasn’t expected.

Or someone.

“Did anyone else live here?” he asked Jack. “Wife? Kids?”

Jack shook his head. “Guy had almost no family. Immigrated from China six years ago alone, leaving behind a great aunt and some distant cousins.”

Will stared at that bare spot on the floor a moment more before he stepped through a doorway leading into the bedroom. There was a single bed with messy, black sheets. Clothes lay strewn across the floor. FBI were swabbing every surface, but they hadn’t yet torn through the room like they had the kitchen. 

He went to the closet doors and slid them open with a harsh creak that made his skin jump. Clothes smelling faintly of star anise and coriander greeted him. His eyes turned to one corner where blankets were piled. Were they moving?

He crouched down and pulled back a thick sheet. A pair of brown eyes glinted in the darkness. The girl could only have been five or six, a tiny thing lost in all those blankets. She must have been hiding in there for hours.

“Hey,” he said gently, careful not to spook her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded slowly.

“How long have you been in here?”

“Since the funny man made Ba into something else.” Her accent was slight, a byproduct of learning English from people who had thicker accents.

“Will you come out and tell me more about the funny man?” Will asked. If she’d seen the Ripper, that would have been the biggest lead they’d ever managed with this killer.

After a brief hesitation, she crawled out of the closet. The other FBI agents in the room immediately stopped what they were doing to call for other assistance. CPS would get involved. They needed an ambulance. But Will ignored the storm building behind him, focusing singularly on this little girl.

Her eyes had trouble focusing on his face, and disappointment sank his stomach. She was visually impaired. There’d be no use asking her what the Ripper looked like. Maybe that was why he let her live.

Will studied her. There was some fear in her, but that wasn’t the prevailing feeling. The lines around her eyes and stiff set to her shoulders indicated uncertainty, mixed with curiosity. She was taking all of this admirably well, considering what she’d witnessed. Young children often didn’t understand death. The human mind was designed to shudder at seeing abnormalities in the human figure. Her blindness might have spared her that. The sounds would have reached her, but they might not have afflicted her so much, if she’d been regularly exposed to violence already.

The bruises on her arms and face hadn’t been the Ripper’s doing. Will could see them clearly now that she wasn’t obscured by the shadows in the closet. The ones on her forearms were defensive, as indicative by the concentration on the ulnar side. Bands of blue wrapped around her biceps where a much larger hand had gripped.

A rush of anger shot through Will, and he suddenly didn’t feel so bad about hammering her father into a new shape.

“The funny man said the safe people would find me,” she mumbled, looking around at all the shapes moving through the room. “Are you the safe people?”

Will nodded. “Yeah, you’re safe with us.”

Her eyes finally found his, and he resisted the immediate impulse to look away. It was a losing battle, though. After only a couple seconds, he had to turn his gaze to the space between her brows.

“Why do you call him the funny man?” Will asked, needing to speak with her while her memory would be the freshest.

“Because he made me laugh.” She smiled at the thought and then winced. Her little hand came up to touch the split in her lip.

Will swallowed his rage at the thought of who’d made the injury. “Can you tell me what the funny man sounded like?”

She didn’t answer immediately, presumably in consideration of the question. “He sounded nice, very warm and deep. He talked like the smart people on TV.”

Will knew already that the Ripper considered himself a refined sort. He was educated and intelligent. Well, at least they had confirmation that the Ripper was male.

“Thank you,” Will said as earnestly as he could manage. “That helps us.”

She smiled again, but not so wide as to stretch her lip. “I like how you sound, too. Your voice feels nice in my chest.”

He couldn't stop a smile at that. “I think you have the prettiest voice, and you speak like a big girl. Who taught you to speak like that?”

“I listen to the smart people on TV when Ba’s gone, and sometimes Auntie will come over to talk to me.” She chewed her lip a moment. “I can’t stay here anymore, can I? Ba said that if people saw me that we’d have to leave.”

Will’s heart was in his throat. “I’m afraid you will have to leave, but people will take care of you. No one will hurt you like your ba did.”

She blinked several times. “Who are you? Are you going to take care of me?”

He knew the horrors of the foster system intimately, and she would almost certainly end up in it. With no family in the States, that was a guarantee. But she was young. She’d find a forever home, wouldn’t she?

His eyes dropped to her bruises. He’d had ones just like them once upon a time.

“My name’s Will,” he said. "What’s your name?”

“Jiali.”

He couldn’t look away from her bruises. “Well, Jiali, I’m going to take care of you.”

#

_Four years later..._

“Jia!” Will called up the stairs. “Jia, we’ve got to go! Do you need help?”

“No!” Her voice came distantly, but clearly. “I’ll be down in a second!”

Will sipped his coffee and rounded the corner into his kitchen. The corners and edges of all his cabinet doors had black padding. He had yet to leave a door open for Jia to hurt herself on, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. She wasn’t tall enough yet to worry about the top cabinets. It was only a matter of another year or two, though, until he had to add that to his list of concerns.

His pack swarmed Jia as soon as she came down the steps, but they didn’t get in her way. Training them to not obstruct her path had been a long process. Winston had been the best, and Will had trained him to be something of a service dog. It was always Winston who steadied her when she tripped and nudged her hand when she was looking for something. By the time she’d gone completely blind, he’d already been her eyes for a while.

She’d chosen a black hoodie today and jeans—comfortable, but not messy. Her backpack rested on her shoulders. She had a smaller pouch attached to her hip where she kept her keys, phone, wallet, and dark glasses. Her hair was in a simple ponytail. Will styled it when she liked, but more often than not, she preferred it pulled back. It was one of few hairstyles she could do on her own.

Will rinsed his mug in the sink while Jia navigated with sure steps to the front door. Her cane hung on a hook by the door. She pulled it off and folded it up with practiced ease. Will came to her side just as she slid the cane into a side pocket of her backpack. Her eyes stared unseeing forward, but she had her ear crooked toward him, indicating her attention was on him.

“Do you have everything?” he asked as he pushed the screen door open for her.

“Yes, Dad.” She stepped onto the front porch with an exasperated sigh.

He closed and locked the doors after her. By the time he turned around, she was already down the steps and standing by the car. The morning sun was glaring through the clouds, but at least the darker shades of the trees and dirt made the glare upon the earth less intense. Will still squinted against it while he climbed into the car with Jia.

“You’ve been having nightmares again,” she said while she buckled herself into the passenger seat. “I hear you when you pace the house at night.”

He frowned as he backed onto the road. “Sorry for waking you.”

She plucked at the fabric of her jeans. “I don’t mind. I’m just worried about you.”

She and everyone else.

Will rubbed his eyes and was thankful that Jack had a coffee pot in his office. They were supposed to have a meeting this morning about a murder victim before Will’s first class. A cannibal who killed young women was proving to be an oddity, as was true of most of the cases Jack brought to Will. That made it all the more exhausting. 

“You dream about the cases, don’t you?” Jia prompted when Will didn’t speak.

Will just grunted in affirmation. The last thing he wanted was Jia to get caught up in the madness of his work, or worse, his mind. That she was the product of the Ripper’s machinations already worried him. Her psychiatrist had been working with her since he took her home, and it was only very recently that their weekly sessions had become monthly sessions.

“Do you ever dream about my ba?” she asked.

Will blinked and glanced at her. “Sometimes. Where is this coming from?”

She shrugged. “Just curious.”

She pulled her glasses from the pouch at her hip and put them on, perhaps sensing that they were only a few minutes from school. She didn’t really care about further damaging her eyes from light exposure, but other students were sometimes unnerved by the way she stared without sight. Children could be cruel. He worried about her having a harder time next year when she started middle school, but she was strong. Her will was firmer than his certainly.

They pulled up to her school, a boxy structure of cold stone and glass. As always, he pulled up to the curb, kissed her cheek, and let her get out on her own. She hadn’t needed his help getting to the front doors of the school in years. Her aide was already waiting by the steps anyway—a young woman fresh out of college with a degree in chemistry whom Jia adored. They were both lovers of science and music. Will was thankful for the fortune of the pairing.

He drove off as soon as he was sure Jia was fine. The drive was long as ever, but that wasn’t so bad. Will enjoyed the quiet. As soon as he was in the city, the ambient sounds would assault him. His drive gave him time to prepare himself for the day.

By the time he found himself at Quantico, the sun was a little brighter, a little harsher. His feet took him through the halls of the FBI Academy with familiar ease. He counted the tiles in the floor as he went. There were always the same number from the door to Jack’s office, but this wasn’t curiosity, so much as ritual.

When Will stepped in, Jack was standing beside a display board detailing the cannibal’s victims and possible connections. A man stood with Jack, tall and lean. His tan suit was tailored perfectly, and his greying hair had been slicked back neatly. Impeccably. The way he stood was purposeful and commanding. It spoke of power. He was a force wherever he went—not a leader necessarily, but authoritative. 

Will disliked him immediately.

He went straight for the coffee pot across the room and took a mug from a set nearby. Jack glanced back at him, as did the man whom Will was quickly labeling a psychiatrist. The dispassionate yet assessing way the stranger gazed around the room and over Will was familiar. Alana got the same look, as much as she tried to turn it off.

“Will,” Jack greeted. “This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Alana recommended him to me to help build a psychological profile.”

Will hated being right sometimes. He poured himself the coffee and took a seat in one of the chairs at Jack’s desk. “Dr. Lecter,” he greeted stiffly, his fatigue crushing him abruptly.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal returned, his tone neutral and his voice rasping slightly. His accent indicated an Eastern European origin, but Will couldn’t determine a specific region.

Jack turned back to the display board. “People have been calling in to confess to the murders, all fake,” he said, continuing a conversation Will hadn’t been present for. “We have to weed through all of them anyway.”

“Tell me, then,” Hannibal murmured, eyes fixed on the board, “how many confessions?”

Jack rested his hands on his hips. “Twelve dozen, last time I checked. None of them had any details...until this morning.” He crossed to his desk and took a seat. “And then they all had details.”

Will already knew where this was going, and his anger was hard to reign in.

“Some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichols’ body with his cell phone,” Jack continued with a sigh, “shared it with his friends, and then Freddie Lounds posted it on _Tattlcrime.com_.”

“Tasteless,” Will muttered, a deep well of hatred for the offending reporter bubbling up in him. 

Hannibal’s eyes set on him. “Do you have trouble with taste?”

It was the probing sort of question psychiatrists asked to understand their patient’s motivations, and Hannibal spoke casually enough that he made it sound conversational. Will knew better. 

He took a deep breath before he spoke. “My thoughts are often not tasty.”

“Nor mine. No effective barriers.” A concession shown in an effort to connect, to build trust. It just made Will more uncomfortable.

He needed more coffee.

“I build forts,” he muttered and sipped from his mug.

“Associations come quickly.” A push as much as an observation.

Will glanced up as Hannibal headed for the chair beside him. “So do forts.”

Hannibal sat and picked up a mug he must have left on Jack’s desk. His maroon eyes set on Will, assessing and calculating. “Not fond of eye contact, are you?”

That was a pressure point, which Hannibal may or may not have known. Will sighed heavily. Well, if Hannibal wanted a glimpse into his head, then he’d get it.

“Eyes are distracting,” Will admitted. “You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, ‘Oh, those white are really white,’ or ‘He must have hepatitis,’ or ‘Oh, is that a burst vein?’”

Hannibal chuckled softly, his gaze still searching and careful. The show of warmth in his expression couldn’t hide the sharpness in those eyes.

“So, yeah,” Will concluded tersely. “I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”

He rifled through a file on the desk and called to Jack to grab his attention, prepared to discuss case details. But Hannibal spoke again.

“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind.” He spoke evenly, but without the same carefulness he’d shown earlier. “Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams.”

Will tensed at the accuracy of the words, a familiar discomfort wriggling up his spine at the knowledge that someone could see the darker parts of him that he kept shoved down.

“No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.” Hannibal had a smile that wasn’t a smile, not quite smugness—confidence maybe.

Will’s anger spiked. “Whose profile are you working on?” He snapped his attention to Jack. “Whose profile is he working on?”

Hannibal was quick to diffuse the situation. “I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.”

The words were carefully crafted, another concession meant to be a bridge of trust. Will was done dealing with Hannibal, however, and didn’t turn his attention from Jack.

“Please don’t psychoanalyze me,” he said, less a plea and more of a demand. “You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

“Will,” Jack started, but it was futile.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Will interrupted and stood, “I have to go give a lecture—” he shot a pointed glance at Hannibal— “on psychoanalyzing.”

He left before they could try to talk him out of it. Distance didn’t stop his gut from twisting in knots.

Hannibal had been right, and that was beyond infuriating. There was one observation, though, that he’d gotten wrong. There would always be a fort around Will's daughter. She was a gift of the Ripper, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a pandemic on, and I've got nothing better to do. So enjoy some very belated Hannigram.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

Minnesota was still hot late-September. The heat was merciless on the scent from the body lying on a bed of antlers in the middle of this field. Jack had called Will out here to see if it was the same killer who’d been murdering young women. The body was young and female, with the same characteristics of the others—brunette, blue eyed, under twenty-one. But this wasn’t the same killer.

Zeller scared off the crows trying to eat the body, sending them into the air in a flurry of inky black wings. FBI forensics meandered through the field, looking for anything to identify the killer. They wouldn’t. Will stared at the body, and all he could think about was the carefulness that’d gone into each element, deliberate and meticulous.

“Shrike’s a perching bird,” Price was saying to explain the killer’s moniker. “Impales mice and lizards on thorny branches and barbed wires. Rips their organs right out of their bodies, puts them in a little birdie pantry, and eats them later.”

Beverly grimaced while she stared at the corpse. Jack sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I can’t tell whether it’s sloppy,” he muttered, “or shrewd.”

Well, Wil could tell. “He wanted her found this way,” he explained. “It’s...petulant. I almost feel like he’s mocking her...or he’s mocking us.”

Jack’s brows rose. The Minnesota Shrike’s profile suggested he held love for his victims. This one was decidedly not loving. 

“Where did all his love go?” Jack asked. 

“The Shrike didn’t paint this picture,” Will mumbled as he stared at the dead girl.

Zeller pointed to her mutilated chest. “He took her lungs. I’m pretty sure she was alive when he cut them out.”

“Our cannibal loves women. He doesn’t want to destroy them. He wants to consume them, to keep some part of them inside.” Will shook his head, fatigue bearing down on him. “This girl’s killer thought she was a pig.”

He started away, in desperate need to call his daughter and hear her voice. She could talk him down from whatever breaking point he was suddenly up against.

Jack frowned. “You think this was a copycat?”

Will stopped and spun around to face all the eyes on him. “The cannibal who killed Elise Nichols had a place to do it and no interest in...fucking field kabuki. So he has a house, or two, or a cabin or something with an antler room.” His heart was high up in his throat as the pieces he didn’t want to see came together. “He has a daughter. The same age as the other girls. Same hair color, same eye color, same height, same weight. She’s an only child. She’s leaving home. He can’t stand the thought of losing her. She’s his golden ticket.”

Everyone stared at him with that same unsettled awe they always did when he made the leaps and connections they couldn’t. For once, he wasn’t bothered by it. The image of Jia impaled upon antlers was flashing incessantly and horrifically across his eyes, and he couldn’t think of much else.

“I need to call my daughter,” he said. “I need to call her.”

“What about the copycat?” Jack prompted. 

Will flexed his hands in their blue gloves. “You know an intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, is very hard to catch. There’s no traceable motive. There’ll be no patterns. He may never kill this way again.” Just to be an asshole, he added, “Have Dr. Lecter draw up a psychological profile. You seemed very impressed with his opinion.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t offer a rebuttal.

“I’m going to call my daughter,” Will repeated and stalked off.

#

“You work too hard, Dad.” Jia’s voice crackled over the receiver. “We’re going fishing when you come back.”

Her tone left no room for argument, which normally would have irked Will, but now it just forced a strangled chuckle from him. A fishing trip with her sounded like exactly what he needed. 

He stumbled into the motel room the FBI had given him and kicked his shoes off. A cannibal serial killer was murdering young girls in Minnesota, and another body had turned up. It wasn't the same killer, though. Cassie Boyle had been killed by a copycat, someone who wanted to replicate the other's MO. Just looking at the crime scene had exhausted Will. He still saw antlers stained red in the sun.

As soon as he’d gotten away from the copycat’s kill, he’d called Jia—both to check up on her, but also to hear her voice. She grounded him when nothing else could. It was just a little before dinner back in Virginia, and he was sure Alana would be providing the finest Chinese takeout for the evening. He often left Jia with her when he had to leave for work.

The vaguely musty smell that clung to most motel rooms assaulted Will as he sank onto the lone bed in the room. Fatigue made him heavy. His nightmares had been relentless, ensuring prolonged sleep deprivation. He rubbed at his burning eyes.

“How was school, kiddo?” he asked, trying for something ordinary to quiet the frantic pace of his thoughts.

Jia hummed tersely. “It was good. Ms. Harper was sick, so we had a substitute. She was very offended that I’d wear sunglasses in class and snatched them off my face. Imagine her embarrassment when she figured out that I couldn’t see her.”

Will’s grip tightened on the phone. “Why didn’t I get a call from the school? That’s not okay.”

“Eh. Didn’t seem worth reporting. I was just enjoying how quickly she backpedaled once everyone in the class started berating her.” Jia’s chuckle unwound some of the tension in his chest. “Michelle was way angrier about it than me.”

Will let out a breath, admiring his daughter’s perseverance. “Still, Jia. You deserve better.”

“I’ve got you, Dad. What more could I need?” She spoke so matter-of-fact that Will almost missed the significance of her words.

“Dad?” she prompted when he just sat in stunned silence.

“Ah, sorry, kiddo. I was just...” He took a breath. “You know how much I love you?”

Her soft chuckle warmed him to his toes. “Yeah, I do.”

“You’re the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

“And you’re mine.”

Will pushed a hand through his hair. A tired breath left him.

“Get some rest, Dad,” Jia said gently. She was always looking out for him. “I can hear how tired you are. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Who’s the parent here?” he grumbled, but he was smiling. 

She sighed theatrically. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later. I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetie. Talk to you later.” He hung up and tossed his phone further up the bed. 

A shower. That was what he needed.

He went to the little bathroom across the room. It wasn’t much bigger than a closet, but contained all the essentials. He started the shower, letting it get scalding hot while he stripped out of his clothes. The water burned. He made no move to turn down the temperature as he stood under the spray. The heat was welcome. He let it sear his skin pink and soak into him, as if it could burn away the darkness that inhabited the cracks in his mind.

A stag stood in his mind’s eye, cast in great shadows. The antlers rose toward a darkened sky, tipped with the blood of the woman he’d seen gored on them earlier. Intelligent psychopaths were almost impossible to catch, able to change their patterns as they saw fit. The copycat felt familiar, though, like a painting he passed in the halls of his mind so often that he no longer took note of it.

He barely felt himself turn off the water and dry himself off with the motel’s cheap, scratchy towel. His eyes were heavy by the time he pulled on a T-shirt and boxers, and he had no memory of how he got to the bed or when he fell asleep. The next thing he knew was morning light through the thin curtains of the window and a soft knocking at his door.

He dragged himself out of bed and padded through the dark to open the door, expecting Jack or Beverely with urgent news. Instead, Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood in his doorway, holding a bag.

“Good morning, Will,” he greeted pleasantly. “May I come in?”

Will bit back the urge to tell him to leave, but rudeness didn’t make for good work relationships. “Where’s Crawford?” he asked instead.

“Deposed in court.” Hannibal seemed all too pleased about that. “The adventure will be yours and mine today.” He waited a beat before repeating, “May I come in?”

Will’s jaw clenched, but he left the door open as he stepped away, letting Hannibal cross the threshold. It felt a little too much like welcoming a wolf inside.

Hannibal closed the door after himself while Will grabbed his phone from the bed to check his text messages. Jia had left him two. One was her usual good morning text. The other was a picture of her and Alana laughing in matching blue plaid pajamas. Will smiled despite the present company.

“I’m very careful about what I put into my body—” Hannibal started, and Will didn’t miss the double meaning of those words. He doubted the good doctor was flirting with him, as he’d been nothing but curt and rude. 

“—which means I end up preparing most meals myself,” Hannibal finished after a slight pause where he’d unloaded food from his bag on the little table by the window. He sat and unlidded the tupperware. “A little protein scramble to start the day.”

Will sat at the table and took the dish of food offered from Hannibal.

“Some eggs, some sausage,” Hannibal explained.

Will took a fork from the silverware set on the table and speared a bit of sausage. It smelled good, which didn’t surprise him, but he was loath to admit it. And when he put it in his mouth, the taste proved just as good.

“It’s delicious,” he muttered begrudgingly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Hannibal watched him scoop the contents of the dish onto a plate before speaking again. “I would apologize for my analytical ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again. And you’ll tire of that eventually. So I have to consider using apologies sparingly.”

It was too early for this.

“Just keep it professional,” Will said too sharply, but not really caring.

“Or we could socialize, like adults.” Hannibal’s tone was light, but the barb wasn’t lost on Will. “God forbid we become friendly.”

Will didn’t much see the point in that. “I don’t find you that interesting.” It wasn’t meant to be an insult, but he only realized how harsh it sounded after it was out. 

Hannibal seemed wholly unfazed. “You will.” Not a speculation. Fact.

Will narrowed his eyes, noting that the assertion had come from the same authoritative confidence bordering arrogance that Hannibal seemed to have in spades. He would neither confirm nor deny that it made the infuriating psychiatrist more interesting.

They ate in silence for a moment before Hannibal spoke again.

“Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters.”

Jack had probably told Hannibal the details of yesterday’s crime scene then and brought him here to study Will’s logic. It was insulting.

Will pushed his food away, losing his appetite. “I don’t think the Shrike killed that girl in the field,” he insisted.

Hannibal leaned forward almost conspiratorially. “The devil is in the details. What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the field? What gave it away?”

“Everything.” Will rubbed his face, his skin suddenly feeling too tight. “It’s like he had to show me a negative, so that I could see the positive. It…” He rubbed his face again. The scenes from yesterday flashed across his eyes.

“That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped,” he concluded, already tired with trying to explain what seemed so obvious to him and no one else.

“The mathematics of human behavior,” Hannibal observed, “all those ugly variables. Some bad math with this Shrike fellow, huh? Are you reconstructing his fantasies? What kind of problems does he have?”

Will’s chuckle was humorless as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the thermos Hannibal brought. “Oh, he has a few.”

He could almost taste the question before Hannibal asked it: “You ever have any problems, Will?”

It was so asinine an inquiry that Will had to give an asinine answer. “No.” He smiled with no warmth.

“Of course you don’t,” Hannibal said, as if he hadn’t gotten the joke. “You and I are just alike—problem-free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.”

Will speared a sausage on his fork, a growing sense of dread spreading through him, but he couldn’t quite say why.

“You know, Will,” Hannibal continued when Will didn’t respond, “I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile, little teacup. The finest china used only for special guests.”

A chuckle escaped Will unbidden at the aptness of the metaphor and its comical morbidity. He leaned back in his chair and looked Hannibal over.

“How do you see me?” he asked, expecting another psychoanalytic line that would reveal Hannibal’s own thought processes.

Instead, what he got was: “The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.”

Another metaphor, but revealing. There was nothing but earnestness in Hannibal’s face. He meant what he said. To him, Will was another predator amongst predators. Will wasn’t sure if he liked the portrayal any more than the objectified teacup.

“Finish your breakfast,” Hannibal urged, his tone just this side of commanding.

Silence fell as they ate. It wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t need to be filled either. The buzzing of Will’s phone broke it just as Hannibal was putting away the tupperware.

He stood and headed for the bed where the device sat on the sheets. Alana’s name flashed on the screen. A paranoid dose of fear shot through Will as he answered.

“Everything all right, Alana?”

“Oh, yeah. We’re great. I just dropped Jia off at school.” She sounded chipper. “I just wanted to check in. Jia said you sounded really tired last night.”

Will glanced at Hannibal over his shoulder, debating how much to speak about. “It was a long day,” he settled on after a beat. “How was she last night? Any problems?”

Alana chuckled. “Jia? Problems? Of course not. She was perfect. Her manners are better than yours.”

“Low bar.” Will smiled despite his terrible mood. It dropped when he heard the clatter of Hannibal packing away the dishes into his bag.

“I’ll talk to you later, Alana,” he said, hoping to get through this day as fast as possible. “Give Jia a kiss for me.”

“Will do. She’ll call you again tonight.” Alana hung up.

He set his phone on the bed with a sigh. The desire to go home and snuggle up with Jia and the dogs was powerful. She loved when he read to her.

“Jia is your daughter, isn’t she?” Hannibal prompted, his tone revealing nothing. “Alana is looking after her while you’re away?”

Will bristled at the sound of his daughter’s name on Hannibal’s lips. “Yes.”

“Jia is a Chinese name, isn’t it?”

Will sighed, reluctant to reveal anything about his daughter to this man, but this information was harmless enough. “I didn’t name her. I adopted her four years ago.”

Hannibal arched a brow. “Parenthood is an admirable endeavor. What compelled you to pursue it?”

“She did.” Will couldn’t help the reverence in his voice, but he quickly schooled his face. “Let me get dressed, and then we can head out.”

Hannibal seemed to pick up on the dismissal and headed for the door. Will didn’t breathe until he was alone in the room. He took his phone and pulled up the picture Jia had sent this morning. Having his mind observed was uncomfortable because it made him feel like a lab rat, but he also had things too precious to share with anyone else.

The Shrike killed because he loved his daughter, because he had to tame the monster in him. Will hated that he empathized with the willingness to kill to protect that which he loved most. It wasn’t the kind of empathy that let him become the killers he pursued. It was a kinship kind of empathy, and that was far more uncomfortable. He brought killers to justice to sate his own beast, after all. It felt good. He needed it. He was _hungry_ for it.

The phone screen was dark by the time he set it on the bed again.

#

It promised to be interesting. They found the construction site, got the address for Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and then Hannibal had called to warn the Shrike of what was coming. Screams could be heard from the little ranch house Hannibal and Will parked in front of. Hannibal was slow to get out of the car. He was even slower to step into the house after Hobbs’ wife stumbled out with her throat cut.

Will was all nerves, shaking as he pulled out his gun and declared himself as FBI. Hannibal hung back curiously while Will disappeared inside. Seconds later, several shots rang out. Hannibal walked in then. Hobbs was dead in the kitchen, several holes in his chest. His daughter lay on the floor, bleeding out from a cut in her neck. Will had his hands over her wound, but held it incorrectly to do any good.

Hannibal crouched down and grabbed the girl’s neck, sparing Will the job of doctor. Will leaned back, shaking uncontrollably. Shock? The man was supremely rude, but even Hannibal couldn’t deny that he was a sight to behold covered in blood.

“Call for an ambulance, Will,” Hannibal instructed calmly.

Will blinked, as if just realizing that Hannibal was there, and then pulled out his phone. He spoke firmly on the phone, not at all betraying how adrenaline shook him.

The girl gasping under Hannibal’s hands looked much like all the victims of her father. She stared up at Hannibal with a singular fixation. Her blue eyes were more saturated than Will’s, a sky blue rather than storm blue. Would Will attach to her like Hobbs did?

The ambulance came within three minutes. Hannibal went with the girl, leaving Will to deal with the police and FBI. 

He’d shot multiple times, more than necessary, and there’d been anger there—righteous fury. Hannibal saw it sometimes in law enforcement. Directed incorrectly it could turn into domestic violence, police brutality, and self-harm. In Will, it could be a thing of beauty. He had violence in him, something untamed and suppressed, but there all the same.

Hannibal looked down at the girl. They were similar that way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

As expected, Hannibal found Will in his office less than a week later. Abigail Hobbs was in the hospital, yet to wake up. They’d spent hours together at her bedside, never speaking much, but nothing really needed to be said. Not yet. And Hannibal was patient. Some things were worth waiting for.

Will stood on the mezzanine of the office, pacing among the books. Did he know he was giving himself the high ground? Or was that a subconscious reaction to Hannibal’s presence? Hannibal doubted Will himself knew.

Hannibal pulled the papers for Will’s psych eval from his desk. The action didn’t go unnoticed.

“What’s that?” Will asked, halting his step to peer down at Hannibal.

“Your psychological evaluation,” Hannibal said readily. “You are totally functional and more or less sane. Well done.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Did you just rubber stamp me?” His tone was disbelieving, as if he were trying to determine if the act was kindly or manipulative. It might have been a bit of both.

“Yes. Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn’t break you and our conversation can proceed unobstructed by paperwork.” Hannibal had no intention of having anything less than Will’s undivided attention. He didn’t know what would grow in Will from here on, but he wanted to find out.

Will stepped forward, eyes looking toward the books, but not seeing them. His shoulders were down, hands in his pockets. It was the most relaxed Hannibal had ever seen him, but perhaps “relaxed” wasn’t quite the right word. His hostility currently wasn’t directed at Hannibal, the perceived threat of the psychiatrist lessening.

“Jack thinks that I need therapy,” Will said simply, a factual statement to be expounded on.

“What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there,” Hannibal offered.

Will had a bitter curl to his lips. “Last time he sent me into a dark place, I brought something back.”

Hannibal move for his desk, keeping as much closeness as possible to Will without the pressure of his attention. “A surrogate daughter?”

Will blinked, and the curl to his lips softened. “I already have one of those.”

“You saved Abigail Hobbs’ life,” Hannibal pointed out, sensing that probing about Will’s mysterious adopted daughter wasn’t quite welcome yet. “You also orphaned her.”

Once upon a time, Hannibal had done the same. He still thought of those brown eyes that had struggled to peer up at him. A genetic defect most likely. She’d probably lost what little sight she had entirely by now.

Hannibal rearranged the files on his desk, putting away his notes from the day. “That comes with certain emotional obligations,” he continued, “regardless of empathy disorders.”

“You were there.” Will’s tone had grown hard. “You saved her life, too. Do you feel obligated?”

Hannibal thought of those unseeing eyes and the sky blue of Abigail’s as he lifted his eyes to Will. “Yes. I feel a staggering amount of obligation. I feel responsibility. Don’t you?”

Something flickered quickly across Will’s face. It was simultaneously dark and soft, but it passed quickly, replaced by his usual sternness. “Did Alana tell you how I found Jia?”

The question took Hannibal by surprise. It was an initiation of conversation about something precious to Will. “No, she’s never said anything about your daughter, other than that you have one.”

Will nodded, as if the answer was expected. “Jiali is her full name. She was born in China and smuggled here in secret by her father. Don’t know what happened to her mother, but it doesn’t really matter now.” He rested a hand on the railing, eyes on where his fingertips connected to the metal. “Her father was murdered. I found her hidden away in the closet of her apartment while the FBI were combing through it.”

“You didn’t kill her father,” Hannibal pointed out.

Will had a far-off look in his eyes. “Didn’t I? I felt myself beat him until his bones were dust in his deformed meat. And maybe it wasn’t really my hand, but I think if I’d known him, known what he was doing to Jia, I would have been the one to kill him.”

“He abused her?”

“Viciously.” That righteous fire that had burned when Will shot Hobbs now shone behind his eyes. “His killer gave me two gifts that day. He gave me Jia, and he gave me justice in the shattered bones of her father.”

Hannibal imagined plucking those blue eyes from Will’s head to see the flames that licked behind them. “I’ve fantasized about scenarios where my actions may have allowed a different fate for Abigail Hobbs, perhaps one as fortunate as your Jia.”

Will’s nod was slight, passively given approval, but the shadows soon returned to his face. “Jack thinks Abigail Hobbs helped her dad kill those girls.”

Just as that little girl had helped Hannibal create his mural with broken plates.

“How does that make you feel?” Hannibal prompted.

Will had the same derisive smile he’d gotten over breakfast when Hannibal had asked if he had problems. “How does it make you feel?” he shot back.

“I find it vulgar.” Pursuing a helpless girl like that was in terrible form. That could wait until later.

“Me, too.”

“And entirely possible,” Hannibal added. He’d seen the violence in Abigail, a survivor’s vigor. She wouldn’t die so easily.

Will grunted. “It’s not what happened.”

“Jack will ask her when she wakes up,” Hannibal said, both a warning and the beginnings of something conspiratorial. Building a cause to join with Will could only strengthen the tenuous connection they had now. “Or he’ll have one of us ask her.”

Will, of course, didn’t take the bait readily. “Is this therapy or a support group?”

“It’s whatever you need it to be.” When Will didn’t respond, Hannibal pressed on. “And, Will, the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.”

It was the seeds of Will’s self-discovery, to have him see that the shadows in his mind came from something that had been there all along. It just needed nurturing.

“You said you see me as the mongoose you’d want to kill the passing snakes,” Will said carefully, his words coming in stunted syllables. “Why?”

“You have a gift, Will, but I don’t think you or Jack understand well what it is.” Hannibal leaned back on his desk. “A mongoose is not a predator who kills by becoming like its prey. It has fangs and claws for that. Empathy is your fangs and claws, and you wield it as such. I don’t think a teacup could do that.”

Will folded his arms over the railing. “So I’m a killer then, hunting other killers?”

“Are you not?”

Will’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t refute the assertion.

Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back. “Alana was quite upset with Jack for letting you get ‘too close,’ as she put it. She was, of course, concerned for your well-being, but also for your daughter. Jia’s already lost one father. She may be better off for it, but I imagine the loss of you would be harder to bear.”

Will had that far-off look again. “I kept thinking about her when I was trying to stop Abigail’s bleeding—how I’d feel if it were Jia in her place.” He rubbed his face, an obvious stim that eased stress.

“Are you afraid of being Hobbs?” Hannibal asked bluntly since Will responded best to directness.

“I’m not Hobbs,” Will muttered.

“Not right now. Maybe never again. But you saw through his eyes, felt his love for his daughter and his desire to consume her.”

Will dropped his hands from his face to look down at Hannibal. “I could never hurt Jia.” He spoke with unusual confidence and ease, that fact as true to him as the rotation of the earth. “She was a gift.”

That was the second time he’d referred to his daughter as a gift. “Why does that make you think you couldn’t hurt her?”

“Because I have to honor her.” Will wasn’t making eye contact, but his stare burned nonetheless. “Hobbs thought he was honoring his victims by sparing them pain and using every part of them, but that’s not real honor.”

“And what is?”

“Protecting them, cherishing them, and if you can’t, if you can only do harm, honor means having the strength to walk away.” His eyes found Hannibal’s then. “You’re very good at what you do, Dr. Lecter. You say the right things. You push the right way. Your image is so perfectly sculpted that no one even thinks to look for cracks. You honor yourself in that regard. But is there anything else?”

The observation took Hannibal aback. It seemed the more Will was pushed, the more he pushed back. If anyone could find the cracks in Hannibal’s veneer, it was this man. That should have been reason enough to pull him down from the mezzanine and slit his throat. But a greater urge rose in Hannibal.

No one else would be able to see him like Will. No one else would understand. And Will was right. Hannibal honored himself. He’d go after what he wanted, even if that might be his own destruction.

“What do you see in me, Will?” Hannibal asked.

Will broke their eye contact, looking away while he contemplated the question. “Hunger.”

A dark need rose in Hannibal at the single word. Not for the first time, he wanted to pry Will’s skull apart to see that wonderful brain beneath. 

“What do you hunger for, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked softly.

Hannibal smiled. “Life. It’s the greatest gift, after all.”

Will studied him a moment, but whatever he found didn’t seem to interest him. “That it is.”

#

The water was cold, but not as bad as it would be in a month. Will stood up to his thighs in it, his line cast far from him. There was a chill in the morning air. His breath formed puffs of white that disappeared almost immediately. Dense trees lined either side of the stream.

Jia sat at the water’s edge on a blanket. Her fingers delicately passed over the book in her lap. She was already proficient in braille and could read well above her grade level. She spoke well above her grade level, too. Will theorized that one begot the other. She couldn’t fully enjoy visual mediums for the most part, so she read or listened to books frequently. Her vocabulary probably surpassed his at this point.

“You seem better,” Jia commented abruptly. 

Will glanced at her. “Better?”

She nodded. “More...relaxed. Your therapy going well?”

His jaw clenched when he thought about Hannibal. The enigmatic psychiatrist subverted all of Will’s expectations, as both a therapist and colleague. He pushed when others would have backed down and remained unapologetic for it.

“That good, huh?” Jia said when Will didn’t respond.

He sighed. “It’s fine. My psychiatrist is just a little...odd.”

Jia’s brows rose. “Oh? Someone you can’t figure out? How interesting.”

“Not interesting. Annoying.” Will stared at the rushing water around him. “It’s not that I can’t figure him out. He’s just...careful. He shows only what he wants to show.”

“You think he has something to hide?”

“Maybe.” Will looked his daughter over. “What about you? Therapy going well?”

She shrugged. “As well as it ever is. It’s nice talking about my worries anyway.” Her lips twitched. “You might want to give it a shot sometime.”

He cast a withering look at her, even if she couldn’t see it. “I’m already in therapy.”

“No, I mean talking about your worries.” She let out a breath. “You keep a lot bottled up, Dad. It’s not healthy.”

“Who says?” Will grumbled.

“My psychiatrist.” She closed her book. “Just give it a try. You might be surprised.”

He probably should have been offended to be chastised by a ten-year-old, but she wasn’t wrong. He knew that. It’d been a long time since he’d really opened up to anyone. The demons in his head seemed better left hidden and locked away from the rest of the world. What was in his head tended to scare people. It scared him.

He thought of Hannibal’s eyes and the wonder in them when he’d admitted to enjoying killing Hobbs.

Will dropped the conversation, and Jia didn’t push. They started packing up before noon, after Will had caught a decent amount of fish. Jia held to his elbow while they walked the uneven path between the trees to the road. He guided her to where he’d parked on the shoulder, and she climbed into the passenger side with no assistance. They were on the road as soon as he’d taken off his waders and put the cooler of fish in the trunk, along with his fishing gear and blanket.

The drive back to the house was short. Alana’s car was parked in front of it, and the woman herself stood by it, leaning against the driver’s side door. Will parked next to her and climbed out with Jia.

“Hi, Alana,” Jia greeted with a smile.

Alana’s brows rose. “How’d you know I’m here?”

“You have allergies this time of year, makes you breathe through your mouth. It’s distinct.” Jia held out a hand, and Will dutifully rounded the car to give her his elbow.

“What brings you here, Alana?” he asked as he guided Jia up the front steps.

Alana had a smile. “Abigail Hobbs woke up.”

Will froze. Jia let go of his elbow and crossed the patio. Her hand unerringly found the front door.

“Well, you know how to bury the lede,” Will muttered.

Alana’s smile didn’t drop. “You want me to get you a cup of coffee?”

Will grimaced. “No, I want to get my coat.”

“Let’s have a cup of coffee.” Alana came forward.

With impeccable timing, Jia got the keys out of the pouch at her hip and unlocked the door. She pushed it open and held it for Will and Alana. The dogs swarmed, but didn’t get in the way of the doorway.

“Should I go upstairs and entertain myself?” Jia asked once they were all inside.

A pang of guilt shot through Will. He bent to kiss her forehead. “Sorry, sweetheart. Do you mind?”

She lifted a hand slowly until it found his cheek. “No, just don’t forget about the fish. You owe me some grilled fish.”

“You can have as much as you like.” He kissed her cheek before straightening.

She disappeared into the hall. The creak of her footsteps on the stairs let him know that she’d gone up.

“She’s a good kid,” Alana commented.

“She is.” Will headed outside to grab the cooler from the car. 

Alana was making a pot of coffee when he went into the kitchen. They didn’t speak while he gutted the fish and cleaned them. The coffee was done by the time he shoved them into a plastic bag and put them in the fridge. Alana poured coffee into mugs, and then she and Will drifted into the dining room. She took a seat at the head of the table. He settled into an adjacent chair.

A beat of silence passed before Will’s home phone rang. Jack Crawford flashed on the caller ID. Will sipped his coffee and waited for the ringing to stop. As soon as it did, his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and set it on the table with a sigh. Alana bit her lip, staring at the phone.

“Is he going to keep calling?” Will muttered.

She tore her eyes away from the phone. “Jack wants you to go see her.”

Will let out a breath. “And you don’t.”

She lowered her gaze. “Eventually.” Non-committal and a promise all at once. “Jack thinks Abigail was an accomplice to her father’s crimes. I don’t want to get in the middle of you and Jack, but if I can be helpful to you as a buffer…”

“I like you as a buffer,” Will admitted. “I also like the fact that you rattle Jack. He respects you far too much to yell at you, no matter how much he wants to.”

That drew a smile from her. “And I take advantage of that.”

Will returned the smile, but it soon dropped. “Abigail Hobbs doesn’t have anyone.”

“You can’t be her everyone.” After a quiet moment, Alana averted her eyes and let out a breath. “She's not Jia."

“No, she's not." His eyes narrowed. “And I don't expect her to be."

“I'm not sure if I believe you.” Alana sighed. “The first person Abigail talks to about what happened can’t be anyone who was there when it happened. So that means no Dr. Lecter either.”

“Much less the guy who killed Dad.” He stared at the steam rising from his mug, remembering the scent of Hobbs’ blood mixed with gunshot residue. “Jack’s wrong about Abigail.”

Alana was quick to say, “Let me reach out to her my own way.”

Will pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair. For once, he didn’t feel the need to argue with Alana. Even Jia had run through a course of psychiatrists before he’d been allowed to adopt her, and he hadn’t actually been the one to kill her father. And Jia had asked for him—ceaselessly and daily—until her primary psychiatrist agreed to let him visit with any regularity. He hadn’t intended to adopt her at the beginning, just to look out for her, but she had wriggled her way into his heart. Sometimes he wondered who had adopted who.

“You did an incredible thing with Jia,” Alana murmured. “She’s been good for you, too. But this isn’t the same. You know it’s not.”

Will sipped his coffee and stared at his phone when it started buzzing again. “I’ve no intention of adopting a second daughter, Alana. I have my hands full with the one already.”

She rested her chin in a hand. “You’re a good father. Any kid should be so lucky.”

“I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time.” Will cradled his mug, feeling the warmth seep into his palms. “It was harder when she was younger. Now she’s so independent.”

“Are you worried she won’t need you?” It was the sort of psychoanalytic question Alana usually avoided with him, but Will let it slide on account of it being hilarious.

He chuckled. “God no. Just the opposite.”

Her brows rose. “You’re worried she _will_ need you?”

“My job as a parent, Alana, isn’t to be needed. It’s to make sure she doesn’t need me one day. Any parent who tries to be needed is setting their kid up for failure. Jia has to be able to stand on her own two feet and charge her own path.”

Alana blinked, and then a slow smile spread her lips. “I think you’re right.”

Will sipped his coffee. “Well, she’s already got a firm mind of her own. Sometimes I think she’s the real head of the house. She’s got me wrapped around her finger—has since the day I met her.”

“I remember the day you took her home. She was so tiny.” Alana took a sip, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “You two were inseparable—still are, really. Makes me think you were destined for each other.”

Will gave a humorless chuckle. “Tied together by the Ripper?”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” she said carefully.

He knew her thoughts on his view that the Ripper had gifted him Jia. She insisted that Jia was a survivor of the Ripper, but that implied that she was ever in danger. Will knew that the Ripper had left her untouched purposefully, to be found and taken away. A gift.

“I don’t think kindly of the Ripper, Alana,” Will said with a sigh. “Regardless, he hasn’t shown up in two years.”

“As far as we know.” Alana set her mug on the table. “I think I should leave you to enjoy the rest of your weekend with your daughter. You promised her fish.”

Will nodded. “Keep me updated about Abigail, would you?”

She squeezed his shoulder, and he forced himself not to shrug away from her touch. “I’ll consider it.”

He waited to breathe until she’d released his shoulder. She showed herself out with a short word of farewell, and Will didn’t wait a moment to head upstairs.

Jia’s room was directly next to his. It wasn’t decorated, no posters or photos or much color at all. There was just a bed, a desk covered in books, and a stereo on the nightstand. Jia sat on her bed, reading the same book she had been earlier. Her fingers stopped over the page when Will stepped in.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“It will be.” Will sat on the bed beside her. “Do you want to keep reading or do something else?”

She closed her book. “You willing to get beat in chess?”

He smiled. “Cheeky.”

When he ruffled her hair, she laughed and batted his hands away. The warmth in his chest overwhelmed him. He pulled her into his lap. She leaned into him immediately.

“I love you so much,” he murmured into the top of her head.

Her smile outshone the sun. “I love you, too, Dad.”

#

The second "therapy" session proved to be interesting, as Will couldn’t stop the whirlwind of his thoughts, and Hannibal did a better job of making them more erratic than making them quieter. That was true of most psychiatrists Will encountered.

They were both on the ground level this time—equal footing. Will faced toward the rows of books, but stayed close to the center of the room, close to Hannibal and the desk. He knew the difference that made. Hannibal’s presence had been growing more familiar. It wasn’t quite comfortable yet, but Hannibal was...direct. That wasn’t to say the man wasn’t hiding something—he absolutely was—but his half-truths and concessions about himself were never falsified. He said what he meant. And when Will figured out what lay beneath the cultured glimpses of Hannibal he was allowed to see, it would likely break whatever cautious trust they were building here.

“How are your nightmares, Will?” Hannibal asked while organizing the papers on his desk. "Still seeing Hobbs?"

Will stared at the books, neither compelled nor desiring to look at Hannibal. “I don't see Hobbs.”

“Then it’s not Hobbs’ ghost that’s haunting you, is it? It’s the inevitability of there being a man so bad that killing him felt good.”

_Good._

Will turned his head then to look at Hannibal. “Killing Hobbs felt just.” Not a lie. Not the whole truth.

Hannibal paused shuffling his papers. “Which is why you’re here—to prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, not from killing her dad.”

Will counted the books on the shelves, right to left. “'Zest.'” Left to right. “Is that what I felt when I pulled the trigger?”

Hannibal responded after a beat, carefully crafting his reply no doubt. “Your intention was to kill him because you understand why he did the things he did. It’s beautiful in its own way…”

Will turned sharply to meet Hannibal’s eyes and was unsurprised to find something like appreciation in them.

“Giving voice to the unmentionable,” Hannibal finished softly.

Will’s chuckle was humorless. “I should’ve stuck to fixing boat motors in Louisiana.” He sat in one of the two chairs in the center of the room.

Hannibal leaned on his desk. “A boat engine is a machine, a predictable problem, easy to solve. You fail, there’s a paddle. Where was your paddle with Hobbs?”

“You’re supposed to be my paddle,” Will bit out, some of his ire rising at all these metaphors and threads that went nowhere.

“I am,” Hannibal said, unfazed as ever by Will’s annoyance. He sat in the chair across from Will, so they faced each other directly now.

A brief silence stretched between them, heavy with...something. Inevitability maybe.

“It wasn’t the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it?” Hannibal prompted, becoming direct again. “Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?"

The direct eye contact was unraveling Will, making his skin tighter and tighter. But he couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to look away.

“I liked killing Hobbs.” Will’s voice was barely above a whisper.

He waited for Hannibal to tell him the reasons, the effects of the psychosis that had doubtlessly developed from years of being serial killers. He waited for suggestions on how to change it. He should have known better.

“Killing must feel good to God, too,” Hannibal murmured gently—almost sweetly. “He does it all the time. And are we not created in his image?”

“That depends who you ask.” Will finally broke the eye contact, his skin growing less tight as something dangerously close to relief filled him. He wasn’t ready to examine that just yet.

Hannibal pushed on, as he always did. “God’s terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshippers last Wednesday night in Texas, while they sang a hymn.”

“And did God feel good about that?” Will asked tightly. He found himself hoping for an answer he shouldn’t have.

“He felt powerful.”

Will met Hannibal’s eyes again. Wonder stared back at him. No judgement. No disgust. No fear. Not even curiosity. Hannibal looked at him like he was observing a work of art.

Will’s heart skipped a beat.

“How did you feel when you imagined killing Jia’s father?” Hannibal asked lightly.

Will swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Righteous.”

“Was that righteousness the killer or you?”

Will knew the answer, even if he didn’t want to. “Me. The killer had...contempt...but he wasn’t righteous.”

Hannibal leaned forward. “Maybe the way you honor your daughter, Will, is by removing demons from this world. Protect and cherish, yes? It stands to reason then that you honored Abigail in the same way. That has its own beauty.”

“Is that what you do, Dr. Lecter? Remove people’s demons?” Will knew he was deflecting, but his curiosity was burning as well.

Hannibal clasped his hands together. “Demons rarely go away entirely. Sometimes the best I can do is create harmony with them.”

“Do you want me to make peace with my demons?” Will couldn’t quite see what Hannibal intended, but he didn’t think it was purely professional.

“Eventually.”

Will thought that a dangerous route. His hatred of the darkness in him was his only comfort sometimes—the only confirmation that he wasn’t like those who reveled in their shadows.

“Have you made peace with yours?” he asked.

Hannibal’s smile touched his eyes, but the expression wasn’t warm. “Most days.”

Will couldn’t imagine Hannibal struggling with any demons. He was about to say as much when his phone rang. 

“Ah, sorry,” he mumbled as he pulled it from his pocket. “It’s my daughter.”

Hannibal leaned back in his chair as Will stood and wandered a few paces away to answer.

“Everything all right, Jia?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft and low. “Alana’s getting Indian tonight. You want us to get you something?”

“Butter chicken.” His lips twitched. “Did you just wake up from a nap?”

She hummed. “I was sleepy after band practice.”

He could imagine her lying in her bed, wrapped tightly in her blankets the way she preferred. “You’re going to have trouble falling asleep tonight.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.” She yawned. “You haven’t answered my texts. You must hate me.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I’ve just been busy.”

“Sure, sure. No time for your daughter. I understand.”

Will’s chest constricted. She was teasing, but he did actually feel guilty for how often he was away.

“Hey,” she said, drawing out the word in warning. “I know you love me, and I’m fine. You do important things.”

“I just…” He worried his lip a moment. “I’d like to spend more time with you, too.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I miss you, too, Dad.”

He wanted nothing more than to go home and listen to books with her. “I have to get back to it, but I’ll be home by nine.”

“I’ll keep your food warm.” She yawned again. “I love you, Dad. Drive safe.”

“Love you, too, sweetie.” He hung up and pocketed his phone. 

When he turned around, Hannibal was standing and shuffling papers on his desk. “I think we can stop here today,” he said, “unless there was something more you wanted to talk about.”

Will took the out. “No, thank you, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal nodded and headed for the door to hold it open. “Until next time then.”

Will strode across the room. He had to pass close by Hannibal as he stepped through the doorway, and the scent of aloeswood and lavender wafted toward him. 

“Good night, Will,” Hannibal said with a small smile.

Will held his eyes a moment. “Good night, Dr. Lecter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if you were curious, but I worked in Sp Ed for a long time and that's where I'm getting my inspiration/knowledge for Jia. I'm also autistic, which is my inspiration for Will and why I love his character so much. Anyway, show divergence starts happening more in the coming chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

Hannibal found himself back in Minnesota with Abigail, Will, and Alana. Abigail had wanted to go home. Alana had been against it, of course, but Hannibal was curious to see what would happen. Abigail was obviously an accomplice to her father’s murders, as much as Will wanted to believe otherwise—or perhaps refused to believe.

They stood in the kitchen where everything had happened. Abigail ran her fingertips over a table with boxes of evidence, stored away for later. Will stood near the door. It was probably the same spot where he’d shot Hobbs, but he didn’t seem aware of his positioning. Alana hovered by Abigail. Hannibal stood back, content just to watch things unfold.

“If you ever want to go,” Alana said gently, “you just have to say so.”

Abigail glanced at Alana over her shoulder. “Go where? The hospital?”

Alana seemed to recognize the bitterness and said carefully, “For now.” Non-committal and a promise all at once. It was her specialty.

Abigail grimaced and turned to the fridge with the photos turned around, a product of the crime scene cleaners. Alana told her as much, prompting Abigail to look down at the floor.

“Is that where all my blood was?” she asked.

Will seemed pained as he answered, “Yes.”

She lifted her head to look at him directly. “You do this a lot? Go places and think about killing?”

The muscles of his neck were taut. “Too often.”

“So you pretended to be my dad.” Her tone was cold, but her eyes were pitying.

“And people like your dad.”

“What did it feel like?” Fear flickered in Abigail’s gaze then. “To be him?”

Will paused a moment, seeming to consider how to answer the question. “It feels like...I’m talking to his shadow, suspended on dust.”

Her brows shot up as a humorless smile spread her lips. “No wonder you have nightmares.” She turned to the window behind her.

Will shuffled across the kitchen, clearly uncomfortable in his skin. Hannibal wanted to wrap his fingers around Will’s spinal column to feel what made it so unique.

“The attacks on you and your mother were different,” Will started haltingly. “They were desperate. Your dad knew he was out of time. Somebody told him we were coming.”

Abigail turned around slowly. “The man on the phone?”

“It was a blocked call. Did you recognize his voice?”

“I’d never heard it before.” She glanced at Hannibal, but only for the briefest second. Curious. 

Alana spoke up, evidently interested in the conversation now that it seemed Abigail wouldn’t snap. “Was there anybody new in your father’s life? Someone you met or someone he talked about?”

Abigail paused, seeming to think on the question.

“He may have been contacted by another killer,” Will said bluntly, as he was wont to do. “A copycat.”

The color drained from Abigail’s face. “Someone who’s still out there?”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip and stared at the corner where her dad had taken his last breath. “Can I… Can I look at other things?”

“Of course,” Alana conceded and let Abigail leave for the living room.

Hannibal moved to follow, but hesitated when he noticed Will staring at the corner Abigail had. Was he watching Hobbs right now? Did he feel the rush of the kill?

As if sensing Hannibal’s thoughts, he looked up. Their eyes met for a moment before Hannibal continued into the living room.

Abigail had them go through the neatly packed boxes of her family’s possessions. Hannibal busied himself with retrieving them from around the house to bring to her while Will and Alana went through what was there. 

“Can you catch somebody who’s crazy?” Abigail asked abruptly while Hannibal went into a bedroom.

“Folie a deux.” Alana’s voice. “It’s a French psychiatric term. ‘Madness shared by two.’”

Apt for reasons she didn't know.

Hannibal picked up a box from the floor and brought it into the living room. “One cannot be delusional,” he said, “if the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by others in that person’s culture or subculture.” He glanced at Abigail. “Or family.”

“My dad didn’t seem delusional,” Abigail mumbled, seemingly more to herself than anyone else. “He was a perfectionist.”

Will scoffed and stood from where he crouched beside her. “Your dad left hardly any evidence.”

Her brows furrowed. “Is that why you let me come home? To find evidence?”

Hannibal answered when her gaze set on him. “It was one of many considerations,” he admitted.

“Are we going to re-enact the crime?” She asked the question with too much cheer and pointed to Will. “You be my dad.” She pointed to Alana. “You be my mom.” She turned carefully. “And you—” she met Hannibal’s eyes firmly— “be the man on the phone.”

Hannibal had to appreciate her boldness. She knew it'd been him. It was in her eyes, the certainty of knowing what he’d done, and she’d expressed it without anyone being the wiser—anyone but him. He resisted smiling.

This promised to be interesting.

#

Killing Marissa Schurr had been easy. She was small and weak and naive, wandering the woods outside the hotel in search of a late-night visit to Abigail. And she’d been stalked by a young man. He’d appeared at the Hobbs’ residence to harass Abigail and her dear friend, Marissa, but been scared away. Evidently, that’d been temporary. He’d had rage in his eyes as he pursued Marissa through the trees, but was altogether harmless—more likely intending to scare Abigail than anything. 

His sister had been a delight to kill. Pushing her upon the antlers was satisfying, making her another brushstroke on his canvas. And Will’s reaction to it had been nothing short of delicious.

So Hannibal watched the young man confront Marissa. They argued, too caught up in their anger to notice the shadow encroaching on them.

Who was Hannibal to deny prey wandering so near to him?

The young man went down with the first blow to his head. Marissa never had a chance to scream before Hannibal’s hands found her throat, and he squeezed and squeezed until she no longer writhed. And then he squeezed some more.

After applying the young man’s blood to Marissa’s teeth, Hannibal had taken her body to Hobbs’ hunting cabin. So many antlers. The assembly was gaudy on its own, but when Hannibal erected Marissa upon them just so, the room became the hostile tomb it was meant to be. Her blood was black in the dim light of the moon. It dripped steadily where the antlers impaled her pale figure, decorating them and the floor.

That was how Will found her when they visited that morning.

Police were there within minutes after he’d called it in, Jack Crawford among them. Hannibal stood with Will, watching that curious mind take in his art. Perhaps he should have been offended that the storm behind Will’s eyes was the loveliest thing in the room, but that just meant Hannibal needed to create something more worthy of the man.

“Do you think she knew the guy down by the stream?” Will asked, referring to when the young man had harassed Marissa and Abigail yesterday.

“Somebody’s brother,” Hannibal supplied.

Will let out a breath. “Not somebody. Abigail said he asked if she helped her dad take his sister’s lungs while she was alive.”

“The young woman on the stag head.” Hannibal had savored her youthful lungs.

“Cassie Boyle,” Will mumbled. “Had a brother, Nicholas.”

Who’d doubtlessly be back. Hannibal was counting on it.

Will stared at something unseen. “But Garrett Jacob Hobbs didn’t kill Cassie Boyle.”

“I know,” Hannibal said honestly. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs would’ve honored every part of her.”

Will looked up at Hannibal. “Honor.” He spoke the word softly, breathlessly.

As if on cue, Jack came up the stairs. “You brought Abigail Hobbs,” he grumbled, “back to Minnesota to find out if she was involved in her father’s murders. And another girl dies.”

Will pulled back Marissa’s lips and flashed a pen light on her teeth. “Yep, scraped his knuckle on her teeth. There’s foreign tissue and what could be trace amounts of blood.”

“You said that this copycat was an intelligent psychopath, Will—that there would be no traceable motive, no pattern. He wouldn’t kill again this way. You said it.” Anger edged Jack’s voice now.

Will seemed unfazed and muttered after a sigh, “I may have been wrong about that.” He didn’t sound like he thought was wrong about that.

“Yes, because Garrett Jacob Hobbs never struck his victims. Why would the copycat do it?”

Hannibal took his opportunity. “I think he was provoked,” he offered. “Nicholas Boyle murdered this girl and his own sister.”

Will glanced back at Jack, then Hannibal. Skepticism shone in the lines around his eyes and the tightness of his jaw.

“With or without Abigail Hobbs?” Jack asked.

“Without,” Will answered quickly. 

Jack’s jaw clenched. “Well, do you think that Abigail Hobbs knew Nicholas or Cassie Boyle?”

“No.” Will sounded almost flippant now. 

That irked Jack enough to make him step forward, to crowd Will. “You don’t think she knew them or don’t want to think she knew them?”

“She said she didn’t know them.” And then Will turned toward Hannibal, clearly an involuntary response born from seeking the support that his psychiatrist was coming to represent. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, but it was enough to draw a pleased warmth from Hannibal. 

Jack sighed heavily. “Dr. Bloom says that Abigail has a penchant for manipulation. Is she manipulating you, Will?”

Another opportunity to gain Will’s favor. “Agent Crawford,” Hannibal said, not unkindly, but it was firm, a warning.

Jack, of course, didn’t back down, which was ideal. Shared victimhood could build bonds better than a show of protectiveness.

“Look,” Jack growled, “he said he was wrong about the copycat killer. I want to know what else he’s wrong about.”

Will was tense, like a coiled snake—or mongoose. “Whoever killed the girl in the field killed this girl. I’m right about that.” He virtually spat the words. “He knew exactly how to mount the body. The wound patterns are almost identical to Cassie Boyle. Same design, the same...humiliation.”

What a clever man Will Graham was. Hannibal continued to be impressed. 

“Abigail Hobbs is not a killer,” Hannibal said flatly, rewarding Will’s firmness with his support again. “But she could be the target of one.”

He met Jack’s eyes, daring him to defy the assertion. Will just stared at Marissa’s body, seeing things that weren’t there anymore.

“I think it’s time that Abigail Hobbs left home permanently,” Jack said carefully. “Doctor, would you be good enough to collect Abigail and all of her belongings and escort her out of Minnesota please?”

Hannibal didn’t move immediately. Jack was obviously trying to get him away from Will, and at least, Hannibal could make a show of his reluctance. He headed away after a beat, leaving Will alone with Jack.

Police wandered about outside, looking for evidence that wasn’t there. Alana stood by a cruiser, hovering around Abigail who was shaking after seeing her friend’s body. Hannibal gave them a nod and gestured to where he’d parked nearby. They followed him wordlessly. 

It was a silent drive back to Abigail’s residence, other than Alana’s soft directives to breathe. The press had swarmed already, pushing against the police line, but they probably wouldn’t get any good pictures with Hannibal’s heavily tinted windows. He didn’t account for Marissa’s mother barging her way through as soon as everyone had exited the car.

“You killed my daughter!” she cried as Hannibal stepped in front of her.

Abigail started to move toward the woman, but Alana held her back.

The mother pushed against Hannibal futilely. He imagined cutting lines down her cheeks where her tears had made tracks.

“Why did you come back here!” she shrieked. “Why come back!” She buried her face in Hannibal’s shoulder. He considered killing her just for the possibility of smearing her mascara on his suit.

Not three seconds after a police officer led her away did Freddie Lounds come from within the house. Hannibal flagged another officer as Freddie went on her usual rude tirade about deserving to know the truth. Hannibal followed her as the officer pulled her to the police line.

“I’m not the only one lurking about the Hobbs house, peeking in windows,” she muttered. “You really should monitor those police lines more carefully.”

Intriguing. Hannibal laid a hand on the officer’s elbow to stop him. Freddie spun around and glared up at Hannibal.

“Have you seen a young man?” he asked. “Mid-twenties, ginger hair, unwashed.”

“I’ll tell you if I saw him if you tell me why it’s important.” Always looking for an edge. It would have been admirable if she had any tact.

Hannibal smiled. That was as much confirmation as he needed. “That’ll be all, Ms. Lounds,” he said and nodded to the officer who resumed pulling her away.

A pair of detectives came up to him, and he gave his description of Nicholas to them. Alana came out of the house a minute later to ask what was going on.

“We’ll look out for him,” one of the detectives said after jotting down a note in a small pad. 

Alana grimaced as she turned to the house with Hannibal. “We should have never brought her here,” she muttered. “Why did you suggest this?”

Because he wanted to see what would happen. “She needs closure, Alana, to see that this isn’t home anymore. I thought coming here would give her the opportunity to put some of her demons to rest. I couldn’t anticipate this.”

“I suppose not,” she conceded with a sigh.

They headed into the house without further conversation.

“Abigail?” Alana called when they stepped through the front door. “Abigail!”

Hannibal heard the creak of old wood and glanced toward the stairs leading into the basement. Abigail was climbing up them, her hands covered in blood. He looked toward Alana, but she was facing away, heading for the kitchen. Her next call for Abigail was cut short when he forced her head into the wall. He lowered her body to the floor. She would have a bad headache later, but she’d be fine.

“She’ll be all right,” he assured when Abigail stared with wide eyes. 

Her breathing was harsh, panicked, and she couldn’t look away from Alana.

“Abigail.” He waited until she was looking at him to continue. “Show me what happened.”

She led him downstairs. Nicholas Boyle was already dead, a pool of blood blooming around him on the carpet. The wound was just below his sternum. Abdominal aorta.

“He was going to kill me,” Abigail breathed.

It was too a precise stab to be purely self-defense.

“Was he?” Hannibal challenged and crouched over the body. He studied Nicholas while she sank to her knees beside him. 

Quick. Effective. It was the work of someone who knew how to kill fast and limit suffering. Will would notice.

“This isn’t self-defense, Abigail,” Hannibal murmured. “You butchered him.”

“I didn’t.” Her voice was small, as if she didn’t want to believe that she was capable of the same violence of her father.

He turned to her. “They will see what you did, and they will see you as an accessory to the crimes of your father.”

“I wasn’t.” A lie.

Hannibal paused a moment to consider just how he was going to persuade her. “I can help you, if you ask me to.”

It had to come from her willingly, her acceptance of the predator blooming in her. 

“At great risk to my career and my life,” he continued. “You have a choice.”

She looked up at him with the entire future stretching out before her eyes and didn’t speak.

“You can tell them you were defending yourself when you gutted this man...or we can hide the body.”

She looked down at Nicholas, back up to him, and down again. “Hide it.”

He resisted smiling, knowing she’d think it inappropriate right now. His hooks were in. They were tied together by this one moment, and the future unfolding before her panicked eyes would always have him in it.

#

Will sat in the back of an ambulance with Alana and Jack. She’d been knocked out by Nicholas Boyle before he’d attacked Hannibal and Abigail. No one knew his whereabouts now. Abigail was shaken. Hannibal was placid as always. They’d gone back to the hotel together before Alana had awoken.

And Will sat in the back of an ambulance.

It wasn’t right. None of the pieces fit together. All square pegs in round holes. Only, he couldn’t figure out why. Hannibal’s and Abigail’s stories matched. Nicholas’ blood found underneath Abigail’s nails matched the tissue in Marissa Schurr’s mouth. Everything added up perfectly to implicate Nicholas Boyle as the copycat—everything but one thing.

The copycat wasn’t Nicholas Boyle.

Will had seen the man yesterday, seen his love for his sister and how his grief made him careless and reckless. The copycat wasn’t careless, wasn’t reckless, wasn’t loving. He made art of Cassie Boyle, each element a deliberate brushstroke. It was performance, theatrical in its display of humiliation. The copycat wanted to show off his prowess for…

For whom?

It was practically gift-wrapped.

Will lifted his eyes. The shadows of antlers in the dark passed between the surrounding trees, getting away from him.

“We’ll catch Boyle one way or another,” Jack promised Alana.

He wouldn’t. Will was sure of it. Nicholas Boyle was dead, and he wouldn’t be found until the copycat wanted him to be found. 

“Where are you going?” Jack asked when Will stood.

“I’m going home,” Will answered.

Jack opened his mouth.

“I’m going home,” Will repeated firmly. “I’m going to hold my daughter. I’m going to tell her I love her. And I’m going to ignore my phone for the next twenty-four hours.”

Jack closed his mouth. 

And then Will went home.

#

Beverly was disgruntled at two in the morning when he came to pick up Jia from her apartment, but whatever annoyed words she might have had with him died on her lips at whatever she saw on his face. He felt tired down to his bones, the cracks in his mental forts growing a little wider. And when he saw his daughter curled up in Beverly’s sheets, he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from crying.

She didn’t wake when he scooped her into his arms. She only turned her face into his chest and sighed. He mumbled a short word of thanks to Beverly when she helped him pack Jia’s things onto his shoulders. The simple thank-you wasn’t enough. He owed her lunch at the very least, and she’d certainly cash it in later in the week when he didn’t feel like the seams of his mind were coming undone.

Jia slept the entire ride back to their house. The dogs were with a neighbor, so it was deathly quiet. He carried his daughter up to his bedroom and tucked her into bed. Her hand caught his sleeve before he straightened, stopping him.

“Missed you,” she mumbled, words slurring together.

He couldn’t stop the tears then. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.” His voice broke on the words. He knelt down to kiss her forehead and smooth her hair back.

Her hand went limp on his sleeve as she slipped easily back into sleep. He sat on the floor, back against his bedframe, and held his face in his hands. The tears wouldn’t stop. They probably wouldn’t for a while. Fatigue always lowered his mental tolerance for stress.

He took a breath and stood. His hands fumbled with unbuttoning his shirt and pants. It took far too long to find sweatpants, and by the time he crawled into bed beside Jia, the tears had stopped. 

Jia curled into him immediately. True to his word, he held her, whispered “I love you” into the top of her head, and then reached for where he’d left his phone on his nightstand to turn it off.

_See?_

His eyes snapped open. The stag stood in the woods outside the Hobbs’ hunting cabin. Marissa Schurr hung from its antlers, her blood dripping down them and dyeing the fur of its head black. Nicholas Boyle lay under its hooves. His body sank into the ground slowly while he flailed. Silent screams filled the air. Leaves and dirt encased him until he disappeared entirely, never to be seen again.

_See?_

“Dad!”

He shot upright. His bedroom surrounded him. Sweat soaked his bedsheets and cooled in the morning air. Light filtered through the window. Wolf Trap. Not Minnesota.

Jia was sitting beside him, her eyes wide and body tense. He lifted a shaking hand to her shoulder. She grabbed it immediately and clutched it to her chest. Concern furrowed her brows and pressed her lips to a line.

“I’m all right,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”

She felt along his hand and up his arm until she found his face. Her hand rested on his cheek. “What did you dream of?”

A shuddering breath left him at the memory. “A very bad person.” He pulled her closer until she sat in his lap, and he could enclose his arms around her.

She pressed her face to his shoulder. “It was a bad case.” Not a question.

He sighed into her hair. “Yeah, it was.”

“Is it over?”

He didn’t answer, but that was an answer all its own.

They sat like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other. Will was reminded of many a night when she’d woken up from a nightmare and needed him to hold her. But while her nightmares had disappeared with time, his had escalated. She was his greatest comfort now.

“Someone’s here,” she mumbled, breaking the silence.

Will heard the car a second later, crunching dirt and sticks beneath its wheels. He reluctantly extricated himself from Jia and padded downstairs. His foot had just touched the last step when the knock came.

He didn’t know who to expect when he opened the door, but it wasn’t Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter,” he said, less a greeting and more an exclamation of surprise.

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal returned with a nod. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Will blinked. “No.”

“Who is it, Dad?” Jia asked as she came up beside him, her hand finding his hip.

Hannibal’s eyes turned to her, and something like shock flickered across his face. But it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Jia, this is Dr. Lecter,” Will introduced tightly, his stomach knotting up inexplicably. “Dr. Lecter, this is Jia, my daughter.”

“Lovely to finally meet you, Jia.” Hannibal extended a hand.

Jia was stiff and unmoving. She got nervous around strangers sometimes.

“She’s blind, Dr. Lecter,” Will said with a sigh. “She can’t see you.”

“Ah, my apologies.” Hannibal withdrew his hand.

Jia took a step back. “What’s your psychiatrist doing here?” Her voice was uncommonly quiet.

Will narrowed his eyes. “What _are_ you doing here?” His eyes flicked to the bag in Hannibal’s hand. “Is this business or social?”

“A bit of both.” Hannibal offered a polite smile. “May I?”

Will hesitantly stepped aside to let Hannibal in. Jia had backed into the living room, one ear turned toward Hannibal.

“Jia, why don’t you brush your teeth and get dressed?” Will suggested, giving her an excuse to leave.

She nodded and headed for the stairs immediately. Will waited until her footfalls had disappeared to speak.

“You make house calls now?” he grumbled and headed for the kitchen.

Hannibal kept at his heels. “Well, Alana said that you’d be unreachable by normal means, and you left quite abruptly last night. I wanted to check in.”

Will sensed more to it. “Just check in?” He grabbed a bag of coffee grounds where it rested beside the maker and dumped several scoops into the top.

“No,” Hannibal said and placed his bag on the countertop. “Abigail keeps asking about you.”

Will rinsed out the coffee pot before filling it up. “Why?”

“She refuses to say why to anyone else but you. Alana’s hesitant to allow it.”

“Because Abigail’s unstable or because I am?” He poured the water in the coffee maker and put the pot back. 

“Are you unstable?” Hannibal asked the question without any noticeable inflection to his voice.

Will glanced at him after setting the coffee to brew. “You’re in my house, Dr. Lecter, not twelve hours after I fled Minnesota. At the very least, Jack thought I was unstable when he sent you here.”

Hannibal leaned against a countertop. “He was worried about you when you ‘fled,’ as you put it.”

“What are you looking for?” Will snapped, his patience wearing thin from all the half-given threads of conversation. “I went home because I couldn’t stand to hear Jack and Alana keep going on like Nicholas Boyle was the copycat killer.”

Hannibal’s brows rose. “You don’t think he is.”

Will sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “No, I… I don’t know.”

“He attacked me and Alana and Abigail.”

“He did.” Will rubbed his face. “I know, but… It doesn’t…” He took a breath and dropped his hand. “The copycat was _meticulous_ . He makes...fucking performance art. His kills… They _mean_ something. Nicholas Boyle was just some grieving kid.”

“Intelligent psychopaths are masters of manipulation. He could have—”

“He didn’t. He was reckless. If he was really the copycat, you’d be dead right now, and we’d find your body stacked with Alana’s and Abigail’s upon an array of antlers, like actors on a stage.” Will stared at the coffee pot as near black liquid trickled into it. “Nicholas Boyle is probably dead, a discarded pawn who served its purpose. We won’t find his body.”

Hannibal didn’t respond, just stared.

“Do you think I’m unstable, Dr. Lecter?” Will prompted softly.

“No, I think you’re overworked.” Hannibal clasped his hands in front of him. “You stood in the breathing silence of Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ home, the very spaces he moved through. Tell me, Will. Did they speak to you?”

_See?_

“With noise and clarity,” Will murmured.

Hannibal’s eyes were calculating as they passed over Will’s face. “You could sense his madness, like a bloodhound.”

Will’s lips pressed together as he thought about Jia’s advice to share. “I tried so hard,” he said haltingly, testing the words on his tongue, “to know Garrett Jacob Hobbs, to see him—past the slides and vials, beyond the lines of the police reports, between the pixels of all those printed faces of sad, dead girls.”

_See?_

Hannibal’s face was perfectly unreadable. “How did you feel seeing Marissa Schurr impaled in his antler room?”

Blood dripping down the stag’s antlers, black in the dark. “Guilty.”

“Because you couldn’t save her?”

“Because I felt like I killed her.” A body disfigured under a hammer and decorated with shattered dishes. “I got so close to him that sometimes I felt like we were doing the same things at different times of the day—like I was eating or showering or sleeping at the same time he was.”

Hannibal seemed to consider that a moment. “Even after he was dead?”

_See?_

“Yeah,” Will rasped, “even after he was dead.”

“Like you were becoming him.”

Will’s jaw clenched. “I know who I am. I’m not Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Dr. Lecter.” 

“You did race back here.” Hannibal glanced up. “For her.”

Will’s blood ran cold. “Don’t you dare. I would never.”

When their eyes connected, Will held it.

Hannibal nodded after a moment. “I believe you.” He looked away, sparing Will the trouble of doing it. “Later this week, I’ll arrange to have you meet with Abigail. She needs connections, and I think we can be that for her until she’s better able to make some on her own.”

“To stand on her own two feet and charge her own path?” Will supplied as he grabbed a mug from a cabinet.

“Is that not the job of a parent?” When Will dropped his mug, Hannibal caught it before it could shatter on the counter. “You know how to nurture, Will, not just destroy. Besides, the latter is only ever mastered when done deliberately.”

Will took the mug from Hannibal hesitantly. “I don’t know if I want to master destruction, Dr. Lecter.”

“Weeds thrive on the fertilizer that nurtures a garden. The gardener must pluck them to have room for the things he wants to grow.” Hannibal stood too close now, having leaned to catch the mug. The warmth coming off him touched Will’s back. “Life grows upon the flesh of the dead. Should we fear the body or the life feeding upon it?”

Some instinct urged Will to step back, to create distance. He stayed where he was.

“Jia was granted a life from the death of her father,” Hannibal continued softly, intimately, like he was sharing a secret. “A gift.”

Will found it hard to breathe. “Are you suggesting I gave Abigail life by killing her father?”

“Didn’t you? You know Hobbs would have killed her if you hadn’t stopped him.” Hannibal reached around Will to grab the forgotten coffee pot and pour its contents into the mug. 

Will didn’t know what to say, the rest of the world fading until there was just Hannibal’s voice and warmth. 

“There is beauty in destruction, Will, if you’d look.”

Will let out a slow breath and looked up at Hannibal. He felt more and more like prey caught in the claws of something much bigger.

“Dad.”

He snapped back to himself and took a step to the side, putting some distance between him and Hannibal. Jia stood in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“What is it, honey?” he asked a little breathlessly.

She swallowed. “I want Dr. Lecter to be my psychiatrist.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Are we going to talk about your daughter’s request?” Hannibal prompted after a couple seconds of tense silence.

Will sat across from him, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor. “I’d rather not.”

Hannibal leaned back comfortably, legs crossed. “Are you uncomfortable with having your daughter around me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s too...connected.” Will shoved a hand through his hair. “I can’t help but think that you’ll talk to her about things we’ve said.”

Hannibal took a moment to consider his next steps. There was no doubt that Jia was the little girl he’d let live four years ago, and he suspected she knew who he was. She hadn’t told Will, if the lack of FBI officers in his office was any indication. Still, keeping her close was in his best interest. 

“I respect patient confidentiality, Will,” he said carefully, “even between family—sometimes especially so.”

Will lifted his head. “And how am I supposed to reconcile the possibility of you keeping things about her from me?”

“The same way you reconcile that possibility with anyone in her life. She’s ten. She almost certainly has friends that she shares more with than you, and if she doesn’t, she will soon.”

“Yes, but that’s not…” Will trailed off and pressed his lips together. A beat passed before he spoke again. “Her friends are not _you_.”

Hannibal’s brows rose. “You don’t trust me then?”

“Yes.” Will looked toward the window. “I don’t trust you with my daughter.”

For now.

“That’s understandable,” Hannibal said without a note of hurt. “You hardly know me.”

“You keep your cards close to your chest, Dr. Lecter. Can you blame me?” Will rubbed his temples.

Hannibal could work with that. Openness was easy enough to pretend. “Your family means a lot to you clearly. We can start with your parents, if you’d prefer to avoid talking about your daughter. What of your mother?”

Will huffed out a dark chuckle. “That’s some lazy psychiatry, Dr. Lecter.” He sounded almost disappointed. “Low hanging fruit.”

“I suspect that fruit is on a high branch, very difficult to reach.”

Will’s smile held no humor. “So is my mother. Never knew her.”

“An interesting place to start.” Hannibal watched a series of emotions pass over Will’s face—discomfort, anxiety, and then annoyance.

“Tell me about your mother,” Will deflected, inviting Hannibal’s openness at the same time. “Why don’t we start there?”

“Both my parents died when I was very young—the proverbial orphan until I was adopted by my Uncle Robertas at sixteen.” It was innocuous enough information, but personal enough to give the illusion of vulnerability.

Will tilted his head slightly. “You have orphan in common with Abigail.”

“I think we’ll discover you and I have a great deal in common with Abigail. She’s already demonstrated an aptitude for the psychological.” Hannibal stared at Will a moment, considering his next words. “You strike me as a walking contradiction, Will. You treat the concept of family as negligible, keeping everyone at arm’s length, and yet in practice, you dote on your daughter.”

“Something so foreign about family…” Will let out a breath and rubbed his palms on his knees. “Like an ill-fitting suit. I have Jia, but the picturesque, nuclear family… I’ve never connected to the concept.”

“You created a family for yourself,” Hannibal pointed out, “in your own image.” 

Will hummed tersely. “I connected a family of strays.”

“So Abigail is just as much a stray as your daughter?”

Will’s face shuttered instantaneously.

“What was your family like, Will?” Hannibal prodded, determined to delve deeper into Will’s familial experiences that doubtlessly informed his relationship with his daughter.

“We were poor.” Will shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. “I followed my father from the boatyards of Biloxi and Greenville to lake boats on Erie.”

A lonely misfit then who collected more lonely misfits.

“Always the new boy at school,” Hannibal summarized. “Always the stranger.”

“Always,” Will confirmed with a derisive smile. 

Hannibal shifted in his chair, uncrossing his legs to open his body language—even if Will might not notice it. “Did your father abuse you?”

Will’s entire body tensed. “Why are you asking?”

“The way you spoke about Jia’s abuse at her father’s hands. It seemed your anger came from relatability.”

Will’s jaw clenched and unclenched multiple times before he spoke. “He was a violent alcoholic—though sometimes just, if not more, violent sober. At least when he was drinking, he was slower.”

Hannibal laced his fingers together over his lap. “So you gravitated toward Jia because she’d suffered the same trauma as you.”

“No.”

“No?”

Will stared at his hands, opening and closing them repeatedly. “I was going to let her go into foster care...at the beginning. I didn’t trust myself at all to be a parent, but…”

Hannibal waited a couple seconds before prompting, “But...?”

“I didn’t choose her, Dr. Lecter. She chose me.” Will rubbed the lines in one palm, a fond softness in his eyes. “She kept asking for me, used to have these massive tantrums at the hospital because she knew the psychiatrist would call me to come over. There was a couple days where I had to go out of town, and she refused to eat until I returned. At that point, the psychiatrist said that I should either cut off all contact or commit.”

Hannibal’s smile came unbidden, amused by the image of this surly man running to console a wailing child. “Clearly, you committed. Did you feel obligated?” 

Will met his eyes for a moment. “Drawing connections between Abigail and Jia again?”

“I can’t help but notice the symmetry, and you obviously have a growing attachment to Abigail. She’s even asking for you.”

Will’s chuckle was genuine this time. “I think she’s past the age of screaming tantrums thankfully.”

An idea unfurled in Hannibal’s mind. “I’ve convinced Alana to allow Abigail to dine with me next week. Perhaps you and your daughter would like to join us. Abigail needs more connections, and she might appreciate the company of a young girl over us old men.”

Will chewed his lip a moment. “And where would this be?”

“My home. I was planning to cook.”

“Of course you were.” Will tapped his knee. He took a long time to answer. “What day and time?”

Hannibal smiled. “Tuesday at seven.”

“We’ll see you then.”

#

Hannibal had everything laid out in neat little bowls in his kitchen. Abigail watched quietly from across the island. She still wore scarves around her neck all the time, hiding the scar her father had left behind. Some of her skittishness had disappeared at least. She looked comfortable in his kitchen—at home. The concept was growing on him.

“It’s important to know when it’s time to turn the page,” he said while peeling an apple. “Have you thought about applying for schools?”

She huffed, not quite a chuckle. “My dad killed girls at all the schools I applied to.” Her smile was sarcastic.

A beat passed before Hannibal spoke. “Perhaps that can wait then.”

“I want to work for the FBI,” she offered instead.

He smiled at that, envisioning her and Will working together. “I would certainly feel safer if you were in the FBI, protecting my interests.”

She sighed. “They wouldn’t let me, though, would they? Because of what my dad did.”

“Only if they believe that’s in your nature, too.”

“Nature versus nurture.” She said it like she knew he was grooming her for better things. Maybe she did.

“You’re not your father’s daughter. Not anymore.”

She lowered her eyes from him, but was spared from having to reply by the doorbell. Hannibal set down the apple and knife on the cutting board and wiped his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder. Abigail trailed on his heels while he went to the front door.

Jia stood on his porch. Her eyes were covered with sunglasses despite the dimming light of the sun. She held her cane in one hand.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” she greeted with the same monotone her father did. Her head tilted slightly. “Who’s with you?”

Perceptive this one. “Jia, this is Abigail,” he introduced. “Abigail, this is Jia, Will’s daughter.”

Abigail peeked past his shoulder to look at the young girl. “It’s nice to meet you, Jia.”

Hannibal looked over Jia’s head. Will was rummaging through the backseat of his car. He came away with a wedge of cheese.

“Good evening,” Hannibal greeted when Will ventured up his front steps. “You didn’t need to bring anything but your lovely daughter.”

Will uncertainly held out the gift. “I couldn’t come empty-handed.”

Hannibal took the cheese and breathed in. It was an aged gouda with bits of rosemary in it.

“I have a wine that would go well with this,” he said and ushered Abigail aside to let the Grahams in.

Jia held to her father’s elbow as she crossed the threshold into the house. Her steps were careful, unfamiliar with the landscape, but she still took a pause to remove her sunglasses and put them in a pouch at her hip. Will folded up her cane while Hannibal closed the door after them.

“It’s a big house,” Jia said suddenly.

Abigail blinked. “How can you tell?”

Jia tapped her foot on the floor. “Sounds like it. Lots of empty spaces.” Her ear turned toward Hannibal. “Dinner smells good. Garlic and thyme and...apples? Someone smells like apples.”

“That would be me,” Hannibal said with a smile, entirely fascinated. “I was peeling one earlier.”

“Well, it smells good.”

“I hope it tastes just as good.” He gestured down the hall.

Will followed Hannibal and Abigail into the kitchen, leading his daughter at his elbow. There were a few stools at the counter nearest the door, and he set his daughter on one, giving her back her cane. She left it in her lap and swung her legs. Will sat on the stool beside her, and Abigail leaned against the island, staying near Hannibal.

“How old are you, Jia?” Abigail asked, sounding honestly curious.

“Ten.” Jia took a deep breath, but she didn’t seem anxious. She was probably smelling the air more.

Abigail glanced at Will, perhaps noting his silence, but she returned her attention to his daughter. “So you’re in...fifth grade?” When Jia nodded, Abigail continued, “What do you like to do for fun?”

Jia had a wry smile, as if amused at the effort to converse with her. “I read a lot or listen to audiobooks. I play piano, too, but usually only at school. The keyboard we have at home doesn’t sound as good.”

Hannibal resumed peeling his apple. “You play piano?” he prompted with a glance at Will. “Your father never mentioned that. I have one here, if you’d like to perform for us later.”

“You also play piano, Dr. Lecter?”

“I do, but I prefer the harpsichord.”

Jia chuckled. “The one that sounds like spider webs.”

Will grimaced. “Jia, that’s rude,” he chastised gently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She still had a smile.

“I can’t say she’s wrong, Will,” Hannibal said amusedly. “The harpsichord has a unique sound.”

Will didn’t reply, just stared at the windows lining the back wall.

“I also like chess,” Jia offered into the silence her father left.

Abigail blinked. “How—” she started.

“Dad made me a special board, so I can feel all the tiles and pieces.” Jia elbowed her father with uncanny accuracy. “We have it in the car. Do you want to play? I’m not that good, but it’s fun anyway.”

Will shook his head, but he was smiling. “Don’t believe her, Abigail,” he warned. “She’s very good.”

Jia elbowed him again.

Abigail chuckled. “I’d love to play a game.”

Jia’s grin was wolfish as she held out her hand. Will gestured toward it when Abigail just stared. Carefully, Abigail came forward to offer her elbow to his daughter. Jia took her folded cane in one hand before jumping down gracefully. She left the cane on the stool and then held out her hand toward Will. He dropped the car keys into her palm. Abigail led them out with hesitance, but Jia seemed confident.

“You encourage independence in your daughter,” Hannibal said once the girls were out of earshot.

Will stared at the windows again. “She’s going to want to leave eventually. I’d like her to be prepared for life without me.”

“An admirable goal.” Hannibal started slicing the apple into thin slices. “She seems quite mature for her age, too.”

“Most of the time.” The lines around Will’s mouth deepened. “She’s eloquent, much more proficient in language than me, and definitely wise beyond her years. But every once in a while, she’ll do something to remind me that she’s just ten.”

Hannibal nodded. “It’s a tricky age. They’re starting to grow into their own person, but they still need quite a bit of guidance.”

“You sound like you’re familiar with young children, Doctor,” Will observed.

Hannibal glanced up at him, but Will was still staring out the windows. “I had a sister. She was a little younger than your daughter when I lost her.”

A moment passed in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Will murmured.

Hannibal looked up at the row of little, white teacups perched on one windowsill and didn’t reply. He could let this part of his past be for now.

Jia and Abigail returned with the chess set. Hannibal suggested they play at the dining table, so they shuffled away again. Will smiled when he heard their giggles drift down the hall.

"Have you ever considered giving Jia a sibling?" Hannibal asked, both to be conversational and because he saw an opportunity to push. 

Will's smile didn't drop. "Only when I see her with her friends at school. She's much more social than me, and I worry that she gets bored with me at home."

"It sounds like she self-entertains well." Hannibal fully intended to hear the girl play something by the end of the night. He suspected she was as proficient at it as chess.

"It wasn't always that way. She clung to me at the beginning, never wanted to do anything on her own. That she can now regulate her own social desires and hobbies is probably the only success I can really claim with her." Will turned his eyes from the window then to look at Hannibal. "Are you my psychiatrist right now?"

"No." Hannibal set the knife down when he got through the apple. "Just a curious friend."

"Curious, indeed." Will rested his elbows on his knees, leaning toward Hannibal. "I sense another question that you've been waiting to ask for a while."

Perceptive as always. Hannibal wiped his hands on his towel.

"Have you thought about giving Jia a mother?" he asked directly, as Will preferred. "Or father?"

Will's smile somehow managed to be smug and strained, as if he'd gotten what he wanted, but hadn't been prepared to deal with the consequences. "Could you imagine anyone tolerating me for that long?"

"You give yourself too little credit, Will. You are very loving...when you like."

Will chuckled at that. "And a barely tolerable bastard all other times."

"'Barely tolerable' implies some tolerability," Hannibal said lightly. "I think the term you're looking for is 'unbearable.'"

Will laughed the hardest Hannibal had ever seen. He clutched his stomach, his voice filling the kitchen like light. 

"That bad, huh?" he prompted between chuckles. "Should I feel bad if even my psychiatrist thinks I'm insufferable?"

Hannibal grinned. "No, but even so, I'm not your psychiatrist right now."

"Evidently." Will rested his chin in a hand and looked Hannibal over, something warm in his gaze. "You're far more personable and charming than me, Dr. Lecter, so I have to assume your bachelorhood is by choice."

It was the closest Will had ever come to a compliment, and Hannibal soaked it in.

"I find most romantic relationships don't hold my interest for very long," Hannibal said honestly. "I've yet to find someone who not only interested me, but I interested them. I can also be a bit unbearable."

Will huffed out a laugh. "A bit?"

Hannibal's lips twitched. "A bit." He slid the apple slices into an empty bowl on the counter. “Would you fetch a bottle of wine from the rack over there? The blue label.”

Will did as asked while Hannibal pulled out a cutting board and cheese knives from his cabinets. They set their items on an empty portion of the counter. Will busied himself with unwrapping the cheese he brought, and Hannibal opened the wine. The scent of both mixed together into something delicious.

“Wine?” Hannibal offered and pulled two glasses from his cabinet.

Will wordlessly took one when it was handed to him, and Hannibal filled it slowly before pouring his own glass. Their eyes hadn’t left each other the whole time. Interest or wariness? Hannibal couldn’t determine just yet. Will’s eyes tracked his movements while he cut a slice of cheese and handed it over.

“You selected well,” Hannibal commented as he sipped the dark red liquid in his glass. “How did you choose it?”

Will ate the slice of cheese before answering. “I like gouda, and I like rosemary. I figured I might like the combination and assumed you’d appreciate something that wasn’t in stick form.” Surprise passed his face when he sipped the wine. “They do go well together.”

“I thought they might.” Hannibal ate a slice of his cheese and sipped his wine. The dryness of the wine with hints of cardamom made for a nice contrast to the bolder cheese.

“You’re a man of indulgence, Dr. Lecter,” Will noted while swirling the liquid in his glass, “but not hedonistic.”

“I can’t deny it. I appreciate good food and good company too much.” Hannibal leaned a hip on the counter and watched the contemplation in Will’s face.

“I don’t think your hunger is quite this literal.” Will glanced at the food on the counter. “At least, not all the time.”

Hannibal sipped his wine. “And my figurative hunger?”

Will’s eyes lifted from his glass. “A contradiction of itself.”

The thrill of anticipation that shot up Hannibal’s spine was delicious.

“Master of your world,” Will continued easily, “with no one to share it with, no one who shares every part of it. People get glimpses, the parts you want them to, but they don’t really _see_ you, do they?”

Hannibal’s heart hammered in his chest. “And do you see me, Will?”

“I see what you want me to see, like everyone else.” Will tapped his finger on his glass a moment. “I’ve been considering Jia’s request to switch her psychiatrist to you, but I’m hesitant because I don’t know what it is you guard so fiercely.”

“You think I’m hiding something?”

“I know you are.” Will cut a slice of gouda and stared at it. “You’ve crafted your image perfectly, which leads me to believe you think that what lies underneath would be rejected. So, Dr. Lecter, I’ll ask you again. What do you hunger for?”

Hannibal finished his wine and reached across Will to grab the bottle, bringing them closer together. Their eyes never broke contact.

“I should think it obvious,” Hannibal said, voice low and promising.

Will was statue still. He didn’t speak, just stared into Hannibal’s eyes.

The faint notes from a piano broke the silence. Hannibal leaned back slowly and poured himself another glass of wine, letting the tension drain from Will’s body now that they weren’t so close.

“‘Before Dawn,’” Hannibal said, recognizing the song. “Contemporary. Your daughter likes Isaac Shepard?”

“Immensely.” Will closed his eyes and took a breath. “She knows this is my favorite.”

Hannibal smiled. “She plays for you then.”

Will didn’t reply, didn’t even move. Only when the song transitioned into “Leaves in the Wind” did he let out a slow breath and open his eyes.

“She plays beautifully,” Hannibal murmured, appreciating how the music filled the empty spaces of his house. “I can hear her love for it...and you.”

“So can I.” Will’s eyes were the softest Hannibal had ever seen them. “She’s my entire world, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal didn’t miss the implied ‘and I won’t share her so easily.’

The bass of the piano reverberated through the house, and Hannibal joined Will in quiet appreciation. He could grow used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were curious about Isaac Shepard:  
> Before Dawn - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Ciq_H3iweY  
> Leaves in the Wind - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UOyijANmhQ


	6. Chapter 6

It was an impulse, and it wasn’t. Hannibal had determined the moment he saw Jia that the Chesapeake Ripper needed to make a reappearance. It’d been several months since he’d crafted the displays that’d made him infamous along the New England coast. Jack hoped the Ripper was dead. Will would have known better.

Hannibal wanted it to be memorable, wanted it to fill Will’s dreams, wanted it to leach into his skin.

The opportunity presented itself in the form of an organ harvester who left a man dead in a hotel bathroom without a kidney. Jack was, of course, convinced it was the Ripper, but Will wasn’t. No, he was too clever for that. His eyes had taken in the scene and determined with no hesitation that the Ripper hadn’t been at play. No one else saw Hannibal’s art for what it was, but Will.

And who was Hannibal to deny his new muse?

It was subtle, the change in his usual criteria for targets. They were all rude, of course. He humiliated them, punished their indignity, and then turned their ugliness into something spectacular. But Will was his inspiration this time, with all his righteous fury.

A medical examiner who fabricated illnesses to suck more money from his patients.

A receptionist who landed her husband in the hospital with a smile.

A waiter who spent too much time following children from the park.

They were injustices that could have gone unnoticed. None of the offenders were on any official database, but Will would notice eventually. 

Eventually.

#

Will stared at the mass of photos on his desk, all victims of the Ripper. Jack thought the recent killings were all from an organ harvester pretending to be the Ripper, but Will suspected just the opposite. The Ripper was intelligent and, worse than that, controlled. He wasn’t ruled by his impulses, capable of changing how he killed and how frequently. An opportunity had presented itself with this organ harvester, and he’d taken it.

_The Chesapeake Ripper wants to perform._

He picked up a photo of a medical examiner, drained of his blood and situated on a bus.

_Every brutal choice has elegance._

His eyes found Jia’s father, crushed beyond recognition. 

_Grace._

The sound of hooves echoed behind him.

_His mutilations hide the true nature of his crimes._

He threw the photo of the examiner on his desk, lost in the mass of murder victims. A headache pounded behind his eyes, and he pulled a bottle of aspirin from his pocket to dry swallow a couple pills.

Something was missing. Something was always missing when it came to the Ripper.

_The Chesapeake Ripper kills in sounders of three. He did his first victims in nine days._

Will’s eyes tracked those first three victims unerringly. Annapolis, Essex, Baltimore. He didn’t kill again for 18 months after that. 

_I use the term “sounders” because it refers to a small group of pigs. That’s how he sees his victims, not as people, not as prey._

The collection of photos seemed to swallow him in its expanse.

_Pigs._

Will sat at his desk and hunched over the assemblage. His eyes returned to Jia’s father. That murder stayed with him, even four years later. Sometimes he could still feel the weight of the hammer in his hand—

No, not his hand. The Ripper’s hand. 

It should’ve been his.

He let out a dark chuckle. Clearly, his mind wasn’t working right if he was jealous that the Ripper had gotten to kill Jia’s father and not him. That was true insanity.

He didn’t remember grabbing the photo, but it was in his hand. The deformed mass of Hong Yuan stared at him. The Ripper had started with the hands, of course. They’d only done harm—big, clumsy things he didn’t deserve to use. And then the hammer had moved up his arms. The crunch of bones had been musical. Radius, ulna, humerus—all turned to sand.

_See?_

Jia sat across from him, her eyes staring into nothing. “It’s better that it’s just the two of us,” she murmured. “He was in the way.”

Abigail sat where Jia had.

“Dad?” Her voice was thin.

“Yes?” he answered. 

She glanced to the side. “He’s here.”

The clop of hooves made his head turn. Its antlers were backlit by the light in the hall.

“Will?”

He blinked, and then Hannibal stood where the stag had been.

“I have a twenty-four-hour cancellation policy,” Hannibal said tightly.

Will felt like he was still waking up. He was in his classroom, sitting at his desk. His students had left a long time ago. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight o’ clock.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep.” Will rubbed his head, his headache pounding now. “Was I sleepwalking?”

Hannibal’s eyes passed over his face twice. “Your eyes were open, but you were not present.”

Will rubbed his face, letting that reality sink in. “I felt as if I was asleep.” He could almost hear Jia chastising him about his sleep schedule. “I need to stop sleeping altogether. Best way to avoid bad dreams.”

Hannibal looked over the desk piled with photos. “Well, I can see why you have bad dreams.”

Will sighed and stood. “And what do you see, Doctor?”

“Sum up the Ripper in so many words?” 

“Choose them wisely.”

Hannibal’s smile held no warmth. “Oh, I always do. Words are living things. They have personality, point of view, agenda.” He lifted a photo—a dentist who’d had his jaw opened to a 180 degrees.

“They’re pack hunters,” Will agreed. 

“Displaying one’s enemy after death has its appeal in many cultures.”

Will shook his head, his eyes scanning over the collage or bodies. “These aren’t the Ripper’s enemies. These are pests he’s swatted.”

Hannibal straightened, still staring at the photos. “Their reward for their cruelty.”

Will almost laughed. “Oh, he doesn’t have a problem with cruelty. Their reward is for undignified behavior.” When Hannibal turned to look at him, Will continued, “These dissections are to disgrace them. It’s…a public shaming.”

The softness in Hannibal’s eyes shone for only a moment before he returned his gaze to the desk. “Take their organs away because, in his mind, they don’t deserve them.”

“In some way,” Will affirmed, but the words still didn’t quite fit right. Square peg. Round hole.

Hannibal crouched down and picked up a photo from the floor. “Who’s this?”

Will only had to glance at it to know. “Hong Yuan. Jia’s father.”

Hannibal stared at the image a long moment. “And what was his crime?”

“Being inconsiderate.” Will folded his arms over his chest and leaned on the desk. “He was...careless. His negligence did harm to things that weren’t his, and he was unapologetic about it.”

“You don’t think the Ripper killed him because of his abuse?”

“No, Jia was…” _Because he made me laugh_. “She was unforeseen.”

Hannibal’s brows lifted. “You claim the Ripper is meticulous, but a child was unforeseen?”

“No one knew about Jia, Dr. Lecter.” Will had to look away from the photo of her disfigured father. “He kept her locked in the apartment. She wasn’t documented. The only person who got to see her was an elderly woman on the same floor. The Ripper couldn’t have known about her, but he...spared her anyway. Probably because she was blind. She couldn’t identify his face.”

“Perhaps the Ripper has an aversion to children as well. All of his victims are adults, yes?”

“With the occasional seventeen-year-old, but no one pre-adolescent.” Will’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, unsurprised to find several texts from Jia.

“Go home,” Hannibal said gently. “She’s waiting for you.”

Something knotted up in Will’s chest. He was suddenly, horribly aware of how close they stood together, like they had in Hannibal’s kitchen. 

_I should think it obvious._

Hannibal hungered for him. But in what capacity? A professional interest? Friendship? Both?

“Something wrong?” Hannibal prompted when Will didn’t move or speak.

“Ah, no. I was…” Will let out a slow breath. “My thoughts are disorganized. The Ripper tends to have that effect on me.”

Hannibal’s eyes were soft. “He should feel honored to faze Will Graham so.” He laid a hand on Will’s shoulder and gently pushed him toward the door. “Go home, Will. And do sleep. I’m afraid I can’t endorse your plan to never sleep again.”

Will chuckled. “Professional opinion?”

“Friendly concern.”

Will’s smile dropped. “Why do you want to be my friend, Dr. Lecter? I’m brusque and rude and prickly.”

“You’re also passionate, loyal, and exceedingly clever.” Hannibal’s gaze was curious. “Is it so hard to believe, Will, that someone would be interested in you for something other than your mind?”

Will stared at the floor. “I find people don’t usually like what they find beyond my mysteries.”

“A shame. I find uncovering your mysteries to be more rewarding for the man revealed beneath.” Hannibal smiled when Will tensed. “You don’t take compliments well.”

“They’re usually disingenuous—empty.”

“Do you think I’m empty?”

The very idea almost made Will laugh. “You, Dr. Lecter, are overflowing with...hunger.”

Hannibal’s brows rose. “Hunger in most cases is thought of as the need to fulfill something. What you speak of is paradoxical.”

“And yet you pull it off so effortlessly. With you, hunger has...form. Teeth.” Will ran a hand down his face, his stomach suddenly lurching.

Hannibal was refined, courteous, _indulgent_. He approached life with a hunger for new experiences, for the sheer novelty of the next moment. His house was filled with finery. It was beautiful and perfectly crafted, like his suits—like his personality. He reveled in life and all it offered because, to him, life was precious. 

“You are a creature of hunger, Dr. Lecter,” Will murmured. “You crave my friendship. Should I fear being devoured?”

Hannibal’s eyes were sharp, assessing, and he took several seconds to reply. “Not yet.” A smile abruptly broke across his face. “We’ve lingered so long that you’re starting to make me think that you’re stalling. I’ve urged you to go home twice now.”

Heat rushed into Will’s face at the implication.

“Go home, Will,” Hannibal repeated once more. “Don’t make your daughter wait anymore.”

Will nodded and grabbed his coat from his chair. “Good night, Dr. Lecter.”

“Good night, Will.”

#

It’s cold. His breath forms puffs of white in the air that disappear into the shadows of the night. The bare tree branches stick up at odd angles like antlers.

_See?_

The road is barren for miles, flat land stretching out in all directions. Its hooves thud onto the frozen ground with every step. 

_See?_

He holds the knife close to his chest. His arms and face hurt. He wants it to stop. He’s going to make it stop.

“Dad!”

Reality slammed back into him, knocking the air from his lungs. He blinked. The frosted fields of his farm surrounded him. Moonlight lit the dirt road under him. 

Jia stood nearby in one of his jackets. It was too big, her form disappearing into the fabric. Her slippers were on the wrong feet.

“Jia?” His voice sounded foreign to him, far away and too close all at once.

She let out a shaking breath. “You were sleepwalking.”

When she lifted a hand, he immediately moved to take it. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

She wrapped her arms around him when he knelt and pulled her to him. “You’re not okay, Dad. You keep spacing out and sleepwalking, and I know how much aspirin you’re taking. You’re not okay.”

He buried his face in her neck and tried to breathe. “You’re right. I’m not.”

“Promise me you’ll see a doctor. Please.” Her voice trembled.

“I will.” He held tighter to her. “First thing tomorrow.”

They separated after a long minute. Will offered his elbow to her and led them back to the house. The dogs circled around them as soon as they were inside, and he let Winston lead Jia away.

“I’ll be up in a moment,” he said when she headed for the stairs.

She nodded and went upstairs with Winston. Buster hopped up on the couch when Will shuffled into the living room. He grabbed the phone sitting on the end table by the couch and dialed. The hospital’s automated appointment services cited off his options, and he made an appointment for the earliest availability at ten tomorrow. His next call was to the Academy, letting them know that he wouldn’t be in until the afternoon.

He briefly considered calling Hannibal to ask for advice, but it was late. Hannibal’s opinion could wait.

“Dad!” Jia called from upstairs. “Are you coming!”

“I’ll be right there!” He set the phone in its cradle, and then headed to bed.

#

The doctor ended up scheduling an MRI for that same afternoon, so Will called Alana to take over his classes. She’d been concerned about his well-being, asking what he needed the MRI for. He’d been curt, giving her the barest details. Alana meant well, but he wasn’t interested in being coddled. He got enough of that from Jia.

His daughter had been texting him all day, asking for updates. Some of the messages had come in during times when she was almost certainly in class. He didn’t know how she was listening to his replies at those times—maybe with the help of a friend—but he was reluctant to stop communicating. She’d been terrified the night before. What she needed was reassurance.

He didn’t get to the Academy until five. Alana was about to start his last lecture of the day when he took over. She’d given him a worried look as she left, but didn’t ask any of the questions on her tongue.

Class went as normal. The only oddity was one Hannibal Lecter who appeared during the last five minutes. Will was quick to conclude his lecture. The students filed out, some stopping to ask him questions before they left. Hannibal waited patiently by the door, just watching.

The air seemed to leave the room as soon as the last student left, and they were alone. 

“Alana asked me to check on you,” Hannibal explained as he strode toward Will. “You had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

Will stared at the floor, fighting the tightness in his throat. “Last night, I… I was sleepwalking. I went out onto the road outside my house. Jia followed me—blindly. She could have gotten hurt, but she was scared for me.” He swallowed. “I was scared for me.”

Hannibal’s brows pressed together. “You think something is wrong physiologically?”

“I don’t know, but Jia insisted I get checked out. I had an MRI earlier. They’ll tell me the results tomorrow.” Will sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “I keep seeing things. It’s harder to parse out what’s dream or hallucination or...something else.”

“Disassociation.” Hannibal seemed to consider that for a moment. “Do let me know the results of your MRI.”

Will nodded. Before he could reply, Beverly and Jack strode in.

“We’ve got a lead on the Ripper,” Beverly explained. “You available?”

Will exchanged a glance with Hannibal before returning his attention to Beverly. “How could I refuse?”

Twenty minutes later, they were in an ambulance garage. The manager led them between rows of uniform vehicles while Jack explained which one they were looking for. Apparently, Beverly had caught surveillance footage of the ambulance and tracked it here. The manager claimed that the vehicle was out of rotation, but Jack was quick to point out that fact didn’t matter.

“Well, nobody’s signed her out,” the manager said. “My road sheet’s got her down for repairs.”

“And who signed her in for repairs?” Jack asked.

The manager glanced at his clipboard. “Devon Silvestri. He’s one of our part-time drivers.”

A thought came to Will, so he said, “Does he want to be a doctor?”

“He’s taking the MCATs.”

Will and Hannibal exchanged a glance. The profile of the organ harvester matched. Anatomical knowledge and connections to the medical community.

They slowed to a stop at an empty space between two ambulances. The manager’s face darkened at the absence of what should have been there.

“It was there this morning,” he muttered.

Jack sighed. “Is Mr. Silvestri working today?”

The manager shook his head. “He’s not on the schedule.”

Beverly stared at the space. “Is there GPS on that ambulance?” When the manager nodded, she prompted, “Encrypted messaging or remote tracking?”

“We can’t afford that kind of hardware. We use consumer grade.”

She smiled. “Digital trunk system.” Her eyes turned to Jack. “If the ambulance radio is on, I can use a DF sweep to find it.”

And that was when they called in all the guns. Beverly tracked the ambulance to a remote garage on the outskirts of town, and Jack made sure they had two armored teams as backup. It seemed excessive for one guy who was definitely not the Ripper. Jack might have been able to justify it if it had been the Ripper, but Will knew better. This was too sloppy, too careless to be the Ripper. And moreover, the organ harvester was interested in turning a profit, not murder.

Devon Silvestri was in the ambulance, one hand inside his victim. He couldn’t remove it without letting the victim bleed out. So Jack called for Hannibal.

Will watched as the former surgeon-turned-psychiatrist slipped into the ambulance, as at ease as ever. In his element. Calm and controlled.

“He was removing a kidney,” Hannibal observed with a sigh. “Poorly. I can stop the bleeding.”

Jack nodded. “Do it.”

An odd feeling overcame Will when Hannibal pulled off his blazer and rolled up his sleeves. Hannibal had real lines of muscles on his arms and shoulders. It certainly wasn’t the typical physique of someone who spent most hours at a desk, but Will wasn’t surprised either. Hannibal was careful with his life, after all. He would nurture his body with good food and exercise.

He pulled on gloves before replacing Silvestri's hands with his own. As soon as he affirmed that the victim would be all right, Jack ordered Silvestri out of the ambulance. They went around to the side to make the arrest. Will stayed where he was, watching Hannibal repair Silvestri’s damage. As if sensing his stare, Hannibal glanced away from his work. Their eyes met for only a second, but the air left Will’s lungs.

_See?_


	7. Chapter 7

Will spun a wire around the lure, attaching feathers to the body of it. Jia was already in bed, but he couldn’t sleep just yet. Sleep didn’t come easily these days. He found himself avoiding it as much as possible, against Hannibal’s and Jia’s advice. They were always trying to get him to take care of himself. And while unsolicited advice wasn’t new, their attentions cut deeper than anyone else’s. He wanted to be better...for them.

It was an odd feeling, this attachment. His life had been spent uncaring of people’s opinions of him, easier that way, but now he felt a compulsion not to disappoint. It was a different flavor with Jia. She was his daughter, his entire world, his axis. She needed him to be better because she depended on him. But Hannibal didn’t. The feeling there was harder to parse out. He had no reason to want Hannibal’s approval, and yet he did.

Chittering brought his head up. The dogs lay on the floor of the living room, most asleep. Some lifted their heads as he stood and crossed to his fireplace. The chittering got louder, so he pressed his ear to the wall above the fireplace. It had to be stuck in the chimney.

He dug through the tools under the desk where he made his lures and pulled out a hammer. The dogs lifted their head curious as he crossed over to the fireplace again. His hand felt heavy. The chittering was frantic, afraid. He lifted his hand.

_I bring the hammer down on Hong’s hand, eliciting a musical assembly of cracks._

The first strike knocked out a brick.

_I want the outside to look as messy as he is._

The second knocked out another brick.

_His carelessness damages what should be handled with care._

The chittering quieted as he struck the wall again.

_He is disgusting._

“What are you doing?”

He spun around to see Jia standing in the doorway. Her black pajamas hung on her tiny figure, too big for her. 

_I hold the knife close to my chest. My arms and face hurt. I want it to stop. I’m going to make it stop._

“Sorry, Jia,” he murmured and rubbed his eyes. “I heard an animal in the chimney.”

She shuffled carefully closer, and Winston got up to walk at her hip. Her fingers slid into his fur.

“So you were breaking it open?” she said with her brows pressed together. “What was it?”

“A raccoon maybe. It’s not there now.” He couldn’t hear the chittering anymore. “It must have crawled out the top.”

Her face scrunched up in worry, which it had been doing more since the neurologist had diagnosed him with encephalitis.

“It’s past midnight," she said. "You should be in bed.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I… I’ll fix the chimney tomorrow.” He left the hammer on the mantle of the fireplace and took Jia’s hand. 

They went upstairs, but Jia refused to let go of his hand, leading him to his bedroom. She’d been anxious about his sleeping habits since that night he’d walked out onto the road. She’d been even more anxious when she found out he had encephalitis. He’d only just started antibiotics yesterday, and they were slow to work. At least he wasn’t sleepwalking anymore.

Jia slipped under his sheets while he went to the master bathroom to brush his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror over the sink. It didn’t seem like him. The mess of curls on his head and the scruff concealing his jaw were his. He knew that, but they seemed like someone else’s.

He spit into the sink and returned to the bedroom. Jia was already slipping back into sleep, her breath even and body relaxed. He slipped into bed beside her and pulled her closer. She hummed and curled into him, like she always did. It was a subconscious response to what he represented—safety, comfort, love. He was everything her biological father hadn’t been.

_I want Dr. Lecter to be my psychiatrist._

Hannibal was a mystery. What lurked behind his veneer remained elusive, but whatever it was promised more of that hunger. It was voracious, ravenous. But Hannibal wasn’t interested in fulfilling a need. He simply wanted to indulge, to bleed every moment dry of what it could offer. His questions dug into Will, opened him, pried more out of him than most people had ever gotten, and he always came back for more. Hunger incarnate.

And Will was starting to want to give himself freely.

Jia burrowed into his chest, and he held tighter to her. If he let him, what would Hannibal pry from her?

#

Seven graves on a beach. Seventeen bodies. A totem pole.

The pendulum swung. Once. Twice.

It lays on the sand, not yet erected. His victims are wrapped around the log, dismembered limbs jutting out just so.

“I planned this moment, this monument, with precision,” he murmurs while stepping closer to his creation. “Collected all my raw materials in advance.” 

He starts tying the pieces together. “I position the bodies carefully, according each its rightful place. Peace in the pieces disassembled.”

The next body for the pole writhes futilely in his binds.

“My latest victim I save for last. I want him to watch me work. I want him to know my design.”

He pulls a knife from his belt and steps toward his victim. The fear in the man’s eyes is glorious. 

The knife sinks in easily, quickly. Life bleeds out into the sands, dying them red. The tide will wash it out soon.

He adds the body to the top, the head piece, and pulls the whole monument up.

“This is my resume. This is my body of work. This is my legacy.”

He opened his eyes.

The tan walls of Hannibal’s waiting room greeted him. He blinked and looked around, his stomach dropping.

“Will? I wasn’t expecting you.”

He spun around to meet Hannibal’s confused gaze. “I…don’t know how I got here.”

Hannibal looked him over a moment. “Perhaps we should talk.” He turned his office light on and held the door open. 

Will headed inside, trying to time his breaths in counts of five. Hannibal closed the door after him and shrugged out of his coat.

“Your car is outside,” he said, “so we know you drove.”

Will paced the edge of the room. One, two, three, four, five…

“I was on a beach in Grafton, West Virginia,” he said, far more harshly than he liked. “I blinked, and then I was in your waiting room, except I wasn’t asleep.”

Hannibal’s eyes tracked his movements. “Grafton, West Virginia is three-and-a-half hours away from here. You lost time. Have you been taking your antibiotics?”

Will shoved a hand in his hair. “I forgot a dose this morning. Jack called me so early.” He rubbed his forehead and stopped pacing. “What time is it?”

“One.” Hannibal stepped closer. “Encephalitis is no minor thing, Will. Jack shouldn’t have called you at all. Your mind is abused enough.”

“I’m not abused! “Will snapped, the word striking a raw nerve.

“You have an empathy disorder,” Hannibal replied calmly. “You’re overworked and overwhelmed, yet you choose to ignore it. That’s the abuse I’m referring to.”

“What—do you want me to quit?”

“I want you to rest, Will. Why won’t you?”

Will breathed in. One, two, three, four, five… “I save lives.”

“And that feels good?” Hannibal’s tone was harder than he’d ever heard it.

“Generally speaking, yeah.”

Hannibal’s jaw set. “And what about your life?” When Will refused to look at him, he continued, “I’m your friend, Will. I don’t care about the lives you save. I care about your life. If you won’t take care of it for you, then do it for your daughter.”

A petty anger flared up Will’s spine. “Don’t bring her into this.”

“You said she’s your entire world. Your life belongs to her, which means it’s not yours to ruin.”

Will couldn’t refute that. Some of his anger drained, replaced by a deep tiredness and something uncomfortably akin to guilt. He sank down on Hannibal’s couch and held his face in his hands.

“My recommendation,” Hannibal said gently, “is to go home, get rest, and turn your phone off. Let me handle Jack.”

The couch dipped as he sat next to Will. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Will couldn’t bring himself to form words just yet, his head throbbing and heart thrumming. Hannibal’s hand, heavy and warm, rested between his shoulder blades.

“Will?” Hannibal prompted.

The desire to lean into the warmth beside him took Will by surprise. He immediately stood. One, two, three, four, five…

“Sorry, I…” Will shook his head. “I’ll go.”

Hannibal headed for his coat resting on a chair. “Let me drive you.”

Will’s voice was weak when he said, “That’s all right.”

“It’s not, Will. That you drove here at all concerns me.” Hannibal pulled his coat on. “Come. I need to pick up Abigail anyway, and she’d probably be happy to see you.”

Will numbly followed Hannibal out of the office and into the cold air of Baltimore. The Benz sat outside in all its sleek, black glory. Like a gentleman, Hannibal held the passenger door open for Will before climbing into the driver’s seat. The heat came on as soon as the car started, blasting lukewarm air into the cabin.

“How will I get to work in the morning?” Will asked, though he couldn’t actually make himself care.

“You won’t.” Hannibal pulled onto the road. “You need to rest, Will. Alana can handle your classes, and if Jack wants your assistance, he can get it over the phone.”

Will’s smile was sardonic. “Are you going to be my buffer from Jack now?”

“Complaints?”

“None.”

“So long as you don’t have any complaints then.” Hannibal fell quiet as he drove, letting something comfortable settle between them.

Things were comfortable now, weren’t they? It was such a rare thing in Will’s life that the novelty of it almost made it uncomfortable, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it hadn’t. Not yet anyway. He almost wanted it. The waiting was the worst part, and he’d rather get it over with than play a long game. 

Everything with Hannibal felt like a game. He was a mystery wrapped in metaphor and expensive, tailored suits. Will was starting to feel like the fish he lured, heading inextricably toward destruction. But he couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the way Hannibal pushed, like he was curious how far he could go until it all broke apart. Or maybe it was the hunger in his eyes when presented with something interesting or novel. 

“Do you want to be Jia’s psychiatrist?” Will asked.

Hannibal seemed surprised by the abrupt question, glancing at Will askance. “I admit the idea interests me. She is unique in many ways, both in her own right and as your daughter. Why do you ask?”

Will watched the houses pass by the windshield. “What about her interests you?”

Hannibal took a moment to answer, presumably to gather his thoughts. “She is very intelligent. Her blindness doesn’t seem to have impaired her learning at all, and she’s quite mature for her age. It is a rare child who could come from the trauma that she did and flourish so remarkably. I have to assume that is due in no small part to you.” A beat passed. “And I confess that I hope that she might give me more insight into you.”

“Haven’t you looked enough into my mind, Dr. Lecter?” Will meant the question to be teasing, but it came out sounding defeated.

“I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”

Will’s heart skipped a beat at the admission. When he looked up, Hannibal’s face was as unreadable as ever.

"Flattery or more of your insatiable nature?" Will asked.

Hannibal's lips twitched. "A bit of both."

Will pointedly looked out the window, ignoring the warmth in his chest.

It was a short drive to the hospital. Hannibal left Will in the car while he fetched Abigail. The stillness left behind unnerved Will. He couldn’t help but notice just how impeccably clean the car was, but there were also personal touches. A braided aux cord. CDs from obscure operas. Dry cleaning in the back seat. They painted a very deliberate picture without revealing anything too personal.

Abigail climbed into the back seat a moment before Hannibal returned to the driver’s side. She flashed Will a hesitant smile.

“Dr. Lecter said you’re not feeling well,” she said, a worried lilt to her voice. “What’s going on?”

Will took a breath before explaining encephalitis and what that meant for his brain. It was instigated by a bacterial infection, so at least it was treatable. He was on a very long round of antibiotics for the foreseeable future. Clearly, sticking to schedule was more important than he’d originally thought. 

She reached around the headrest to feel his forehead, making him tense in surprise. “You’re warm,” she observed with a frown.

He gently lifted her hand away. “I’ll be all right once I take my antibiotics.”

Hannibal pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. “You should sleep as well,” he said knowingly. “Healing takes work.”

“I feel like I’ve spent too much time asleep,” Will murmured and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even know if I’m awake right now.”

Abigail leaned back in her seat. “Sounds like you should definitely sleep then.”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “And how’ve you been, Abigail?”

She stared at her feet a moment. “Freddie Lounds wants to write a book about me.”

Hannibal and Will exchanged a glance. They didn’t need words to express their thoughts.

“I’m trying to be...understated,” Will said haltingly, “when I say that this is a bad idea.”

“Freddie Lounds is dangerous,” Hannibal concurred. 

Abigail wrapped her arms around herself, a defensive response. “She said she wanted me to write about you guys. 

The lines around Hannibal’s mouth deepened. “You would be forfeiting your privacy and ours.”

When Abigail didn’t respond, Will added, “This—all of this—will change. Whatever you’re feeling now, that won’t last. Things change.”

Her jaw set.

“Things are changing for me, too,” he continued into her silence. “I’m doing some accounting of what’s important in my life and what isn’t. You are important, Abigail.”

“Just because you killed my dad doesn’t mean you get to be him,” she muttered.

Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, but Will beat him to it.

“I had four different psychiatrists advise me against seeing Jia. She was fragile, they said, and needed someone who could give her stability. I thought they were right, so I gave her space. It was futile in the end, obviously. She wouldn’t let me go.” Will stared at his reflection in the window. “I have no expectations, Abigail. I had no intention of becoming a father in the first place, didn’t think I’d be much good at it, and I have no interest in being something you don’t want. But you do have me at a disadvantage. You owe me nothing, and I owe you everything.”

“How do you figure that?” she asked quietly. “You saved my life.”

“I killed your dad, Abigail, and took away your home. Can you fault me for wanting to give you a new one?” When he glanced in the rearview mirror at her, tears shimmered in her eyes, but didn’t fall.

“Abigail,” Hannibal said softly, “we’ve been through a traumatic event, and no one more traumatized than you, but we went through it together. What you do, what you write, concerns all of us.”

She stared out the window. “I don’t need your permission.”

“And you don’t need our approval, but I hope it would mean something.”

“I know what people think I did. They’re wrong.” She wiped at her eyes. “Why can’t I tell everybody that they’re wrong?”

Will was immediately reminded of days when Jia came home crying because some idiot kids had teased her for running into walls or cabinets. She’d wanted to stay home and hide. It had been a difficult time, watching her suffer until eventually she came into her own. She learned that words could cut deeper than knives, and she had ample in her arsenal. Her tongue became her greatest asset, capable of flaying others or earning lifelong friendships.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Will murmured.

“Yet,” Hannibal cautioned. “But if you open this door, Abigail, you won’t control what comes through. Are you ready for that?”

Abigail chewed her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Think on it,” Will advised, “at the very least.”

She just gave a curt nod in response.

Hannibal glanced at Will sidelong, something surprisingly close to warmth in his gaze. At some point, Will knew he’d have to examine just what it was exactly that Hannibal inspired in him. This tag-team parenting was novel, but not unpleasant. In fact, Will quite liked having someone else supporting him, a partnership of sorts. He hadn’t given much consideration to ending his single-parent status, but it was sneaking up on him. The more pressing question, however, was who he wanted to be his partner. That wasn’t something he was willing to explore just yet.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, or really if he’d fallen asleep. All he knew was that Hannibal’s face was over him, voice soft and coaxing.

“We’re here,” he murmured. “I consider myself fairly fit, but I don’t think I could carry you.”

Will grunted, his eyes burning and skin oversensitive. Hannibal carefully pulled him from the car and kept a steadying hand at his waist while they headed inside. The dogs flooded out, nearly tripping Hannibal. Will mumbled where he kept his antibiotics by the coffee maker, and Abigail grabbed it, along with a glass of water, on their way up to the bedroom. She waited until Hannibal set him on the bed before giving him the water and meds. His throat felt inflamed while he swallowed down the antibiotics.

“Thank you, Abigail,” Hannibal said. “I’ve got it from here.”

She took the pill bottle and glass from Will before leaving.

“What time does Jia get out of school?” Hannibal asked as he unbuttoned Will’s coat.

Will glanced down. “Three. What are you doing?”

“I don’t think it’s comfortable to sleep in your coat.” Hannibal pried the coat open and pulled it off Will with practiced ease. “What’s the name of her school?”

“Wolftrap Elementary. I can undress myself.” Will started unbuttoning his shirt, fumbled with it, and then glared at his traitorous hands.

“There’s no shame in needing help, Will.” Hannibal undid the buttons quickly and slid it off. His fingers were warm. “I’ll pick up Jia from school since you’re in no shape to drive. Abigail will be here while I’m out if you need something.”

Will didn’t have the ability to protest the plan. It was a service to him, and he couldn’t very well try to get Jia in his state. “Thank you.”

Hannibal nodded and crouched to pull Will’s boots off. When his hands came back up, Will flushed for reasons that had nothing to do with his fever. Hannibal unbuttoned his pants with clinical efficiency, showing no sign of awkwardness or embarrassment, and when he pulled them off, he was careful not to take Will’s boxers with them.

“Get some rest,” he said as he helped Will under the sheets. “I’ll call Alana and Jack to let them know you’ll be out tomorrow.”

Will let out a tired breath. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“Don’t apologize. Friends take care of each other.” Hannibal headed for the door. “Call if you need something.”

“Thank you, Hannibal,” Will mumbled as his grasp of consciousness started slipping.

Hannibal froze at the use of his first name, and then a small smile spread his lips. “You’re very welcome.”

#

Alana was worried. She offered to come down to Wolf Trap, but Hannibal politely refused. Her presence and interest in Will was an intrusion. As it was, Will was relying on Hannibal, and their performance with Abigail proved that they could be the parental figures she no longer had. Alana was extraneous, a distraction.

The call to Jack was far less compassionate. He pointed out that Will was a necessary part of the team, especially on such a high-profile case. His disregard for his friend’s health grated on Hannibal, and he imagined crushing that bullheaded skull of Jack’s to see if it was as strong as it seemed. Hannibal politely reminded Jack that he was, in fact, a doctor. It was his professional opinion that Will get rest through the weekend at the very least. Jack couldn’t argue with that.

By the time Hannibal had finished his calls, it was nearing the time he needed to leave to pick up Jia. So he made sure Abigail was comfortable by herself and then headed out.

Wolftrap Elementary wasn’t terribly far. Hannibal parked on the street near the school and walked the short distance up to it. Other parents were already waiting by the curb. A couple gave him friendly smiles, which he returned. More were occupying themselves with their phones. Hannibal noted a disproportionate amount of women than men.

The school bell chimed, and then children flooded out. Hannibal waited patiently, eyes passing over the mass of tiny faces. Jia stepped out after a minute with a young woman beside her. Hannibal strode over. The aide gave him a curious look.

“Hello, Jia,” he greeted.

She didn’t seem surprised, just returned his greeting with a flat, “Hello, Dr. Lecter.”

“You know him, Jia?” the aide prompted.

“He’s my dad’s...friend.”

“Hannibal Lecter,” he introduced himself and held out a hand.

The aide shook the offer. “Selene DuBois.”

Jia tilted her head. “Why are you here, Dr. Lecter?”

“To pick you up. Your father is feeling unwell and sleeping off a fever at home. Abigail is looking after him right now.” When she held out a hand, he offered his elbow. “Do I need to sign you out?”

Selene’s brows furrowed. “Sorry. Let me just call Mr. Graham. School policy.” She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Hannibal was mildly annoyed that she might wake Will, but she was just doing her job in protecting Jia. He could forgive that.

Will did answer. Hannibal heard his faint grumbling over the phone, and then Selene hung up and offered a smile. 

“You’re all set,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jia.”

“I won’t,” Jia replied with a grin.

Selene blinked. “Are you not coming tomorrow?”

“I believe,” Hannibal said with a wry look, “that Ms. Jia is making a joke about her lack of sight.”

Jia chuckled. “You got it.”

Selene sighed, but her smile was fond. “Just stay out of trouble, you.”

“No promises.”

Hannibal offered a word of thanks to Selene and then led Jia through the mass of children to his car. She pulled her backpack off and put it in the space under the glovebox. Hannibal watched her curiously while she independently felt for the seatbelt and buckled herself in. Will’s efforts to ensure she was capable in her self-care had clearly paid off. She had a grace to her movements, a confidence in the space she couldn’t see, that spoke of comfort in her eternal darkness.

“I would like to stop at the grocery store,” he said as he started the car. “Are you opposed?”

She shook her head. “What are you getting?”

“Ingredients for dinner. I don’t think your father is up for cooking today.” He pulled onto the road after pulling up a map on his phone for the nearest grocery store.

“Is my dad going to be okay?” Jia asked. “I like this one. I’d prefer he stay alive.”

Her phrasing caught Hannibal’s attention. “His antibiotics are working. He just forgot to take a dose this morning.”

She bunched her hands into fists in her lap. “That’s not what I meant.”

Hannibal stared ahead, considering his next words. “I’m quite fond of your father, unlike the previous one.”

“I was going to kill him,” she blurted.

His brows rose. “Who?”

“Ba, my biological dad.” Her knuckles were white from how hard she was clenching her hands. “I’d heard about it on the TV, on the crime shows. I was going to make him stop. I just wanted him to stop.”

Well, this was becoming more and more interesting. “Why didn’t you?”

“Someone beat me to it.” The way she said ‘someone’ emphasized the word too much to be normal.

“Should that someone be sorry?”

“No, I’m...thankful.” She uncurled her hands incrementally. “Ba probably would have killed me. I was just six.”

The idea unsettled him. He savored the darkness of the feeling. “Well, I’m quite glad that you’re here, and he isn’t.”

She nodded and didn’t say anything else.

Hannibal pulled up to the grocery store a minute later. It was modest, but fully stocked. Jia clung to him while he wandered the aisles. The store didn’t have everything he wanted, but it would do for a decent meal. And he delighted in letting Jia feel and smell the various items. She could identify almost all the produce by smell alone.

By the time they returned to the car, she’d relaxed some. Her easy smile lit up her face. Hannibal felt the beginnings of protectiveness well in his chest, and he let it grow, curious to see what it’d turn into.

Abigail was waiting on the porch with a book and several dogs at her feet when they returned to the Graham’s residence. She smiled at them.

“Hi, Jia,” she greeted as they got out of the car. “I like your dress. It’s colorful.”

Jia had a wry grin. “So I’ve heard.”

Pink bloomed in Abigail’s cheeks. Hannibal chuckled and pulled the groceries from the back seat. 

“If you would help Ms. Jia into the house, Abigail,” he said. “I’ve got my hands full.”

Abigail immediately rushed down the porch to give her elbow to Jia. They walked together into the house. Hannibal laid out the groceries in the kitchen and then proceeded to look through the cabinets to catalog all available tools. He was pleasantly surprised to find a well-stocked kitchen. It didn’t have everything he did, obviously, but it was sufficient.

The girls’ giggles drifted from the living room. From the sounds of things, Jia was trying to show Abigail how to set up a game of Scrabble. Hannibal smiled at the sounds of their merriment while he cut up an onion. Laughter sweetened the food.

Will ambled down the stairs just as the noodles for the soup finished. He was dressed in a gray robe that only went to his knees. His glasses sat low on his nose, and he seemed unsteady on his feet. But his eyes were sharp as they set on Hannibal dumping noodles into a colander.

“You made dinner,” he mumbled, his brows lowering.

Hannibal set the noodles aside and grabbed the ladle by the pot. “Broth from chicken bones, crimini mushrooms, ginger, ginseng, sesame oil, and rice vinegar.” He sipped the broth. “It’s done. You’re just in time.”

“You made me chicken soup?” Will sounded amused now.

“Yes.” Hannibal waved toward the door into the dining room. “Please call the girls to the table. I have set it already.”

Will didn’t move, staring at Hannibal with an odd look in his eyes, but he did disappear into the living room after a moment. His voice was soft as he urged the girls to the table. Their chuckles seemed to warm the air, and the floorboards creaking under their footfalls seemed almost familiar. It was all terribly domestic. Hannibal thought he could grow accustomed to it. 

He lifted the pot from the stove and brought it to the table. Will sat beside Jia and across from Abigail. The girls were discussing the book, _Star-Crossed_ , that they’d been listening to. It was a little simple for Abigail’s age, but she still found it enjoyable, which was more important.

Hannibal placed the pot on the pad he’d laid on the table when he set it. Will instructed the girls to hand over their bowls. Jia had some more trouble with that than Abigail, but she was still fairly accurate in holding it toward Hannibal. He filled all their bowls, with his own being last, as was only right.

“Thank you,” Will said with a wary narrowing of his eyes. “It smells wonderful.”

Jia inhaled deeply. “Ginger, ginseng, sesame oil...and rice vinegar.”

Hannibal, Will, and Abigail stared at her in shock.

She grinned. “I overheard you earlier, Dr. Lecter.”

Will ruffled her hair. “You think you’re so clever.”

“But I am!” She giggled when he kissed her temple.

“And who taught you that?”

“Me. All me.”

“I don’t think so.” 

While the pair traded quips, Hannibal glanced over to Abigail who was suddenly statue still. She was staring at Will and Jia with something like longing. Hannibal put a hand on her shoulder, and she snapped her eyes to him.

“What do you see?” he whispered.

Her gaze returned to Will and Jia again. “Family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star-Crossed by Barbara Dee - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27242442-star-crossed
> 
> It's middle-grade, but you can enjoy it any age. It's a wonderful book.


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner concluded without fanfare. Abigail went back into the living room with Jia. The two of them were growing closer by the second, it seemed. Will wanted to enjoy the moment. His house had never been so full of life, and Abigail fit in easily, like she belonged. She wanted to belong. He'd seen it over dinner, the way she kept looking at the casual affection between him and Jia. And she could have, he thought, if she let herself. He'd welcome her.

And then there was Hannibal.

He stood in Will's kitchen, washing dishes while Will dried. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The flex of his forearms was distracting, so Will pointedly focused on the dishes.

"Your daughter is remarkable," Hannibal said abruptly. "We had a lovely chat on the way home from school."

It was effective in grabbing Will's attention. He took the bait. "And what did you two chat about?"

Hannibal handed him a bowl. "Her biological father."

"What about him?" Will ran a towel over the bowl and set it in the cabinet. 

"She said she intended to kill him." Hannibal handed him another bowl. "Before the Ripper got to him obviously."

Will set the damp bowl on the counter and took a breath. Hannibal glanced at him and slowly turned the water off. For a moment, neither of them spoke. 

_I want it to stop. I’m going to make it stop._

Will had known that Jia had intended to kill her own father. She'd never told it to any psychiatrist, and he had to figure it out through the derisive way she spoke about him. In four years, she hadn't ever explicitly admitted it. Yet in one conversation, Hannibal had drawn that from her, like he'd drawn Will's secrets. 

"How did you do it?" Will breathed.

Hannibal's brows rose. "You knew."

"Of course I did. She never said it, but...I knew." Will ran a hand down his face. "How did you do it?"

"Well, she was worried about you, that you were sick, and she told me that she wanted to keep you, unlike her previous father. When I said that I intended to ensure you wouldn't go the way of her biological father…"

"She told you how she intended him to go." Will let out a breath and bowed his head. "Four years. Six psychiatrists. You've done what I and they couldn't."

Hannibal straightened. "Will, you can't take it personally. Sometimes these things—"

"Why are you doing this?" Will lifted his head to look at Hannibal. "You drive me home, pick up my child, make us dinner. It's like you're…"

Hannibal's eyes were dark and focused. "Like I'm...what?"

Will's lips pressed together. He couldn't get the words out. 

Hannibal took a step closer. Will involuntarily stepped back. His back hit the side of the fridge, trapping him. Hannibal didn't loom over him. There was plenty of room to escape, but Will couldn't move from his spot, didn't want to. 

"I can't," he heard himself say. 

Hannibal gently pried the towel from Will's grip and dried his hands. "I'm patient."

Will's breathing was too fast. His heartbeat was too fast. 

They stared at each other for far too long, silence leaden with things unspoken. 

"Will."

He started at Abigail's voice. His eyes snapped to where she stood in the kitchen doorway.

"Can… Can I stay here?" she asked uncertainly. "For the night anyway. It's just getting late, and if Dr. Lecter takes me back now, then he'll have to come back to drop Jia off at school tomorrow since you don't have your car. Seems easier if we just...stayed."

Will couldn't deny the logic. Tomorrow was Friday, so he'd need a car to drive Jia to school. Hannibal needed to either drive him back to Baltimore or loan more of his time and services. 

The thought of them sleeping under the same roof made Will shiver. 

"If that's all right with Dr. Lecter," he said hesitantly. "You're both welcome to stay the night."

Hannibal's eyes lit up. "I'll alert Dr. Bloom." He stepped out of the room while pulling out his cell phone. 

Abigail remained where she stood, staring at her feet. "I wanted to apologize...for earlier."

Will looked her over, noting the nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the other. "What for?"

"The comment about you not being my dad."

He looked up at the ceiling and counted his breaths. "Well, I'm not your father, Abigail, nor do I expect to be."

She bit her nails into a forearm. "You're a better father than my real one ever was."

_I want it to stop. I’m going to make it stop._

"I would hope so," he mumbled after a pause.

She lifted her head and rubbed her arm. "Um… So… Where should I sleep tonight?"

He lowered his gaze from the ceiling to look at her. "Jia's got a full in her room, if she wouldn't mind sharing. I can't imagine she would. She usually doesn't like to sleep alone."

Her eyes turned to the door Hannibal had disappeared through. "And Dr. Lecter?"

Will's heart did a backflip. "I'll figure something out." He took a deep breath before he stepped away from the fridge. "Why don't you and Jia get ready for bed? She can show you where everything is, and you can borrow my pajamas."

Abigail took the informal dismissal and went back to the living room. Jia's footsteps joined hers, and then they faded upstairs.

Hannibal returned to the kitchen. "Alana didn't care for the short notice," he reported, "but she was pleased to hear that Abigail is bonding with Jia."

"Jia's always wanted a sibling," Will mumbled. "They share more in common than most, trauma and all."

"Is that what you want, Will? For them to be sisters?"

The question was loaded for a variety of reasons, not least of which was whatever _this_ was. It still hung between them, unsaid and overlooked. For now. 

"I have a fold out bed in the living room," Will said, choosing to ignore the question. "I'm used to sleeping on it. You're welcome to take my bed upstairs."

Hannibal shook his head. "I must insist you sleep in your own bed, Will. You are ill."

"It's really no—"

"Please." Hannibal laid a hand on Will's shoulder. "It would ease my mind."

Will glanced at the hand and carefully, slowly, lifted it from his shoulder. “Then I’ll...head to bed.”

Hannibal took the slightest step back, the ghost of a smile at his lips. “Good night, Will.”

“Good night, Dr. Lecter.”

#

Jia was quiet in the car. Hannibal didn’t expect her to be talkative. Unlike most children her age, she didn’t seem compelled to share everything that came into her head. The air around her, too, had a soft maturity, darkened by the trauma of her childhood—not at his hand. Her father took the blame for that. And it was a rare thing, indeed, that Hannibal set someone free with his work, rather than ensnare them. Jia was rare in many regards.

His unintentional gift.

“Dad likes you,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at her. “I like him, as well.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean he doesn’t usually like people...but he likes you.”

“And I’m honored by his friendship.” He watched the barren trees pass by on the sides of the road. “What is your opinion of me?”

“I like you.” She touched her lip where a cut had been four years ago. “Do you like me?”

He smiled. “I like you very much, Jia.”

“Good.”

When they came to the front of the school, she insisted on getting out herself. Hannibal watched her go. The aide, Selene, was waiting out front already. She waved at him when she saw him, a gesture he returned before pulling back onto the road. 

Abigail was making coffee when he returned. She smiled up at him and set out three mugs on the counter. 

"Dr. Bloom texted me earlier," she said. "She wanted to know when you planned to return me."

He shrugged off his coat and folded it over an arm. "That's not up to me. Would you like to leave soon?"

She scoffed. "If I had my way, I'd never leave here." She flushed as soon as the words were out. "Ah, I didn't mean—"

"Did you ever want a sibling, Abigail?"

She stared at the mugs on the counter. "I was jealous of my friends who had siblings. I always thought it would be nice to have a little brother or sister."

"Is it?"

She flushed deeper at that. "Yes."

Hannibal smiled. "I'll talk to Will to see if we're overstaying our welcome. Is he still upstairs?"

She shrugged. "I haven't heard him come down."

He headed for the stairs and made his way up to Will's bedroom. A knock on the door was answered with, "It's open!"

Will was sitting up in his bed, reading a book. He sat up straighter and took off his glasses when Hannibal stepped in. 

"Good morning, Will," Hannibal greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I have in a while." Will let out a breath. "Jia's drop-off go all right?"

"Yes, we chatted a bit more." Hannibal couldn't help his smile. "She's under the impression that you like me."

"You don't seem under the same impression." Will's face was unreadable, schooled into perfect neutrality. 

Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed. "I wouldn’t presume."

Will chuckled and looked Hannibal over. "I think you presume a great deal, Dr. Lecter." He leaned back against his headboard. "Though you’re seldom wrong in your assumptions.”

It was flattery and a challenge simultaneously, and Hannibal was happy to rise to the occasion. “Would you tell me the things I got wrong?”

“What would be the fun in that, Doctor?” Will had a teasing smile.

“I only mean to suit your needs better.”

Will’s smile widened. “I think you suit my needs just fine.” 

Hannibal knew that Will was prone to deflection by means of flirtation, the same way he was, but Will was also prone to missing multiple interpretations of the same phrase, especially when he was the one saying it.

“Jack called earlier,” he said abruptly. “Apparently, the killer who made the totem pole admitted to his work.”

Hannibal nodded. “He wanted credit, a legacy.”

Will scoffed. “He lacks enough...flair...to be memorable. His creation was too...acute.”

“A blurb in the newspaper to be forgotten in a few weeks,” Hannibal agreed. “That would be in line with the self-aggrandizing proclivities of psychopaths.”

“Most psychopaths.” Will said the words almost bitterly, but before he could draw inquiry, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Let me make breakfast. I’m nowhere near your caliber as a chef, but I owe you for dinner...and taking care of Jia.”

“You owe me nothing, Will. I was happy to help.” Hannibal fully intended to exploit the sense of obligation, but it would be rude to demand reciprocity.

“Let me anyway.”

When Will headed for the door, Hannibal followed. There was an ease to Will’s step here that he didn’t have anywhere else. This was his domain, his world, and he was confident here. Hannibal could still fluster him, of course. But it was harder.

Abigail had coffee ready for them downstairs. Hannibal didn’t approve of the cheap beans, but he wasn’t going to refuse the offer. He’d barely taken a sip before Will ushered him and Abigail out of the kitchen, so he could work. They went to the dining room to sit.

“How did you sleep, my dear?” Hannibal asked. “Children are prone to wriggling in their sleep.”

Abigail stared at her coffee. “I actually had a nightmare...about Nicholas. It woke me up. Jia woke up, too, because I’d been moving. I thought she’d freak out, but she just…”

Hannibal’s head tilted curiously. “She what?”

“I don’t know. She… She was calm and...guiding.” Abigail ran a finger along the lip of her mug absently. “She told me to breathe in counts of five and counted for me and squeezed my arms, which actually felt really nice. And when I’d calmed down, she said that if I’d survived the monsters once that I could survive them again.”

Hannibal continued to be surprised by Will’s enigmatic daughter. “She has some experience, I think, in dealing with nightmares. Timed breathing is a common method of easing anxiety, and the arm-squeezing is deep pressure stimulation. It’s often used to help those with sensory issues and can be used to relieve stress as well.”

Will consistently exhibited sensory issues, mostly to tactile and auditory stimulus. His clothes were all cotton or mostly cotton. He avoided crowds and other places with loud noises. Unexpected visuals made him flinch. And he didn’t like to be touched, unless it was firmly and swiftly.

Jia likely had developed habits that helped her father avoid or manage his sensory problems. Hannibal could imagine many a night where she eased Will back to sleep from his nightmares.

“I just didn’t expect it from a ten-year-old,” Abigail said with a shy smile, “but I guess she’d have more practice than me.”

Hannibal sipped his coffee. “We can learn a lot from children, about the world and ourselves. They are honest creatures, who can reflect both the best and worst of us. They’re also incredibly resilient. Jia has four years of healing from her trauma on you, and I imagine she would have some wisdom.”

Abigail seemed to think on that, and Hannibal let her contemplate in silence. She was growing more and more attached to the Grahams, which wasn’t surprising at all. Jia represented Abigail’s ideal—recovered from trauma, with a place to belong and people to whom she belonged. Her outburst at Will yesterday was likely more bitterness at having her idea of a book thwarted than anything she held against him. She craved family, people to care about her and give her stability. Hannibal thought he could make a place for her.

Will came in with plates after a few minutes. He appeared to have made omelets, liberally covered in cheese. Hannibal waited until they were all seated to take a bite. 

It was unsurprisingly flavorful. Will had demonstrated a palate accustomed to the spices of Louisiana, and it showed in his cooking. A blend of paprika, cayenne, thyme, and basil touched Hannibal’s tongue, mixing with bell pepper and plum tomatoes. Will didn’t seem interested in cooking complex dishes, but that wasn’t to say that his taste wasn’t amenable.

“All right?” Will prompted. “I wasn’t sure how much spice either of you could handle, so I held back a little.”

“I appreciate it,” Abigail said with a smile. “I can’t handle spice.”

Hannibal savored another bite. “I can, but we must be considerate of others’ palates. Perhaps you will give me the fullest experience next time.”

Will’s fork stopped mid-way to his mouth. “And when will be the next time?”

“I believe that’s entirely up to you.”

He and Hannibal stared at each other. Abigail glanced between them, curiosity in her eyes. 

“Dr. Bloom thinks it’s healing for Abigail to spend time with Jia,” Hannibal said into the quiet. “I think it’s good for Jia, too.”

Will set his fork on his plate with a soft clink. “You’re suggesting play dates?”

“I’m suggesting building connections.”

“And what do you think, Abigail?” Will prompted with a glance at the girl in question.

She swallowed a bite of her omelet. “I like Jia. I like...being here.”

Will’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “You’re always welcome in my home.” He turned his gaze to Hannibal. “I’ve been meaning to take Jia fishing again. Would you and Abigail like to join us next weekend? I’ll grill.”

Abigail’s eyes lit up. “Please, Dr. Lecter,” she said. “I want to.”

Hannibal offered a smile. “I could never deny good food and good company.”

“I’ll let Jia know,” Will said, face neutral.

They ate breakfast in relative quiet, with Abigail asking about fishing and what she could expect. Hannibal just watched. Will was different with Abigail and Jia than he was with anyone else. His edges smoothed almost immediately, and he made more of an effort to produce warm expressions that didn’t come naturally to him. He was, in a word, kindly. It was a veneer in the same way Hannibal kept a veneer, but Will wasn’t trying to hide. Rather, the intention was to welcome and accommodate. 

Hannibal found the facade interesting in its own right, but he was glad it was never directed at him. Will was his most natural self while within Hannibal’s office. That was how they made progress. That was how Hannibal would foster trust.

Abigail insisted on washing the dishes when they were done with breakfast, perhaps fearing she would be discourteous otherwise. Hannibal stayed at the table with Will while they sipped their coffee. The sounds of running water and clinking dishes drifted from the kitchen.

“I’ve been thinking,” Will said abruptly, “about Jia’s request.”

“To have me as her psychiatrist?” Hannibal prompted for clarification.

Will nodded. “I think...you might be good for her.”

Hannibal’s brows climbed his forehead, but he wasn’t wholly surprised. “What gave you the change of heart?”

“She opened up to you when she wouldn’t with anyone else.” Will stared at his mug. “I don’t know how you did it, but she is...free...with you.”

Hannibal didn’t speak, sensing there was more Will wanted to say.

“On Wednesdays, she stays with a friend’s family until I can pick her up because my classes go late that day. I can get her before lecture Wednesdays, leave her with you, and pick her up when my class is finished, if you’re available. You’d have her from four-thirty to six roughly.”

Hannibal smiled and nodded. “That works perfectly.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day. Enjoy.

Franklyn was a rotund man with an insatiable desire to be wanted. He tried to find connection in every passing person, and the people who gave him the time of day were always assaulted by his persistent grasping at companionship. It was desperate...discourteous. And Hannibal found him tedious.

They sat across from each other in Hannibal’s office. It was dreadful way to start any day, but Hannibal couldn’t complain this once. He’d managed to gain Will’s trust enough to be responsible for Jia’s mental health. The night he’d stayed with the Grahams had brought a lightness to his step over the weekend. Even now that it was Tuesday, Hannibal relished in the victory.

“Since we can’t be friends,” Franklyn said, “or...you’re not comfortable with that, I found myself looking at my friends through your eyes, imagining what your diagnosis might be.”

Hannibal forced his face to remain neutral. “So you become the psychoanalyst?”

“I become you.”

He imagined ripping Franklyn’s fat tongue out. “Who are you psychoanalyzing?”

Franklyn sighed. “My friend, Tobias. I Google’d ‘psychopaths,’ went down the checklist, and I was a little surprised to see how many boxes I had checked.”

This promised to be a long session. “Why were you so curious to Google?”

“He’s been saying very dark things, and then saying, ‘just kidding,’ a lot. It started to seem kind of crazy.”

“Psychopaths are not crazy,” Hannibal said tightly. “They’re fully aware of what they do and the consequences of those actions.”

“Would you diagnose someone like Tobias as a psychopath? Or are you supposed to diagnose other people in front of me? Do you… Would you rather just talk about me?”

Hannibal would rather decorate his basement with Franklyn’s blood, but maybe this discussion of Tobias—the obvious psychopath from the opera—would make the next hour bearable. “Not at all.”

Franklyn’s eyes scrunched up. “Are you bored with me?”

“No.” Yes. “This is your hour, Franklyn. We will talk about whatever you would like to talk about.”

“I’d like to talk about Tobias,” Franklyn said immediately. “Perhaps you can help me analyze him.”

“I’m not analyzing your friend. I’m analyzing your perception of him. It may help you know yourself better. You could be projecting onto him what you consider to be your flaws.”

Franklyn seemed alarmed. “Does that mean I’m a psychopath?”

The idea was laughable. “You’re not a psychopath, although you may be attracted to them.”

Franklyn sat with that in silence. He’d continue to pursue his suspicions of Tobias. Hopefully that might lead to his own demise, so Hannibal wouldn’t have to do it. Franklyn was so boring that he didn’t even seem worth the effort.

The rest of the hour passed as dully as ever. Hannibal let out a breath as soon as Franklyn left his office, and he could sit at his desk to sketch a young girl with unseeing eyes and a plate in her hands.

His phone rang just as he finished the cut in her lip. “Hello, Will,” he answered after glancing at the caller ID.

“Dr. Lecter” came the expected reply. “Are you free right now?”

Hannibal noted the slight tremor to Will’s voice. “I don’t have another patient until one. Is everything all right?”

“There’s been another murder, Douglas Wilson. He was a trombonist with the Baltimore Metropolitan Orchestra.”

Hannibal was familiar with the man. Wilson had been a terrible trombonist and had no place with the orchestra. “I take it there’s something interesting about this murder, or you wouldn’t be involved.”

Will sighed heavily. “His neck was cut open to expose his vocal cords. The killer put a cello neck in his mouth, and…”

“Played him?” Hannibal supplied when Will didn’t continue. “He must have treated the vocal cords then, like catgut string.”

“Yes.” The line was quiet for a long moment, filled only with Will’s soft breathing. “Can I see you?”

Hannibal smiled, pleased that he was becoming more to Will. “Of course.”

“I’ll be there in ten.” The line cut out.

Hannibal hid his sketch of Jia in a drawer of his desk and started a different one of Abigail, sitting at the window of her bedroom in the BSH.

Will came ten minutes later. He strode in without knocking, eyes wide and shoulders tense. Hannibal watched him shrug out of his coat and lay it on the back of his usual chair at the room’s center. Will didn’t sit. Instead, he paced a moment and then leaned back on a support column of the mezzanine. 

“A curious case you have,” Hannibal said when Will didn’t speak. “Tell me about it.”

Will stared at nothing. “The killer is a skilled musician, looking to try a new instrument.” He tapped a finger on the column at his back.

“Among the first musical instruments were flutes carved from human bone,” Hannibal said, taking note of the way Will’s chest rose and fell quickly.

“This murder was a performance.” Will seemed to come back to himself and stepped toward the desk, arms crossed while he scanned the floor.

“Every life is a piece of music.” Hannibal tracked Will’s pacing. “Like music, we are finite events, unique arrangements—sometimes harmonious, sometimes dissonant.”

“Sometimes not worth hearing again.” Will spoke almost wistfully, not quite an adoption of the killer’s mindset. More personal.

Hannibal nodded. “He’s a poet and a psychopath.”

“And a craftsman.” Will crossed to the chair in front of Hannibal’s desk, but still didn’t sit. “He was shrinking and tanning the vocal cords.”

“Like turning iron wire into musical steel string.” A thought appeared to Hannibal. “Was there olive oil?”

Will’s head snapped toward him. “Yes.”

A true musician indeed then. “Whatever sound he was trying to produce, it was an authentic one. Olive oil hasn’t been used in the production of catgut for over a century.”

Will had an almost fond smile at Hannibal’s esoteric knowledge. “Oh?”

“It was said to increase the life of the strings and create a sweeter, more melodic sound.”

Will’s smile dropped. “I hear what he was playing behind my eyes when I close them.”

Hannibal wished he could hear the music that trombonist made. “What do you see behind closed eyes?”

“I… I see myself.” Will glanced at the floor, and then back up. Nervous. Lying.

Hannibal left it for now. “You said the killer was performing. Who was he performing for?”

Will shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t know. A patron of the arts? A fellow musician? Or...another killer?”

Hannibal immediately thought of Tobias. “It’s a serenade.”

“This isn’t how he kills. Normally, he doesn’t kill for an audience.”

“And you believe he risked getting caught for a serenade?”

Will’s eyes sparked with something. “I believe...he wants to show someone how well he plays.”

Hannibal considered the words. The next session with Franklyn promised to be significantly more interesting.

“It’s so rare, Dr. Lecter, to find you distracted,” Will said suddenly. He sat at the chair in front of the desk, so they faced each other. “Something on your mind?”

Hannibal was sharply reminded of why he needed to stay on his toes around Will Graham. The man had an incomparable knack for noticing minute detail.

“I’m a bit preoccupied with thoughts of your daughter actually,” Hannibal lied. “Her former psychiatrist has sent me her notes and records, and I’ve been mulling them over.”

Will tensed immediately. “Anything wrong?”

Hannibal shook his head. “No, no. Nothing alarming, I assure you. I can’t breach confidentiality, of course, so I won’t discuss specifics. I’m simply curious about her mental state shortly after she was found.”

“She was...anxious.” Will looked toward the bookshelves, watching something that was no longer happening. “She had never been outside the apartment her father kept. The overwhelming amount of sensory input was a difficult adjustment.”

“One you related to, I’m sure.”

If Will was surprised by Hannibal’s assessment, he didn’t show it. “Her psychiatrists helped her develop coping mechanisms over time. I helped them implement them when she was non-compliant. She grew very attached to me very quickly.”

Hannibal could imagine the young child clinging to the safety and warmth of Will, the father she should have had. “When given a choice between food and comfort, a starving child will choose comfort. Humans are hardwired to seek safety and stability in each other. You gave her something she’d been severely lacking.”

Will slowly dragged his eyes to Hannibal’s. “Is that what you’re doing for Abigail? She’s attached to you.”

“To us,” Hannibal corrected. “You and Jia have given her a taste of family again.”

“With you.” Will spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.

Hannibal saw the opening to push. “How do you feel about that?”

Will took a long time to answer, gaze darting across Hannibal’s face without meeting eyes. “Conflicted.”

Hannibal clasped his hands over the desk, leaning forward slightly. “Why?”

“You have...woven...into my life, my daughter’s life, and Abigail’s.” Will let out a breath. “I can’t seem to turn around without you there.”

“Would you prefer I extricate myself? Give you and your family distance?” Hannibal asked, knowing full well the answer.

“No.” Will finally met Hannibal’s eyes. “But I’m afraid of finding out what happens if we continue like this.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Because it’s unknown or because it’s me?”

“A bit of both.” Will tilted his head, eyes searching. “What would I find, Dr. Lecter, if I looked behind the veil?”

Hannibal took a moment to consider his answer. “The shape of hunger.”

Will huffed, not quite a chuckle. “And what’s on the menu today?”

“I don’t know. I never know.” Hannibal offered a smile. “That’s the fun of it.”

#

Franklyn called the next day, talking about how Tobias said he wanted to “cut someone’s throat and play it like a violin.” That, of course, prompted Hannibal to visit one Tobias Budge at his instrument shop. The notes of a cello rang through the air. Hannibal held the bell on the front door to quiet it as he stepped inside, concealing his entrance. He listened until the cello stopped. The shop seemed emptier for it. 

It was a little place, but as soon as Hannibal smelled the olive oil and lye and gut, he knew he could expect quality. Tobias was a talented musician and craftsman, as promised. The dark wood paneling of the walls gave a refined, warm feel. Cozy, but elegant. A clever draw for prey to get their guard down.

Tobias emerged from a side room. His brows rose when he saw Hannibal.

“You’re Franklyn’s therapist, Dr. Lecter,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”

“Is it...Tobias?” Hannibal said, as if he had any doubt of the name. 

Tobias smiled politely. “Yes.”

Hannibal gestured at the string instruments fixed to the walls around the room. “Your strings are all gut.”

“I also carry steel and polymer strings, if you prefer.”

“I prefer gut.” Hannibal crouched to inspect a cello. “Harps strung with gut still make music after two thousand years.”

Tobias stepped behind the front counter, perhaps a subconscious defensive reaction. “I didn’t hear you ring the bell.”

“I didn’t want you to stop playing.” Hannibal plucked a string before heading for the counter. “Was it an original composition?”

“Something I’ve been writing,” Tobias admitted. “You compose.”

Hannibal came a little closer, gauging Tobias’ reactions to test his tenacity. “I discover. Can’t impose traditional composition on an instrument that’s inherently freeform.”

That seemed to pique Tobias’ interest. “What instrument would that be?”

“The theremin. It can generate any pitch throughout its range, even those between conventional notes.”

“So can a violin...or a trombone.”

Hannibal’s lips almost pulled into a smile at the veiled conversation. “It seems we are both comfortable playing between conventional notes. I hear the symphony’s looking for a new trombonist.”

“Altogether horrible what happened,” Tobias muttered, still playing at empathy.

Hannibal hummed tersely. “Not altogether. It’s an unfortunate way to leave the symphony, yes, but I can’t help thinking the orchestra will be better for it.”

Tobias finally emerged from behind the counter, baring himself in a sense. “At least for the brass section.” He looked Hannibal over. “What brings you here, looking for gut?”

“My harpsichord needs new strings. It’s making an awful noise.” Hannibal stepped closer, into Tobias’ space, determining how the lack of distance felt. “Perhaps you could help.”

A smile broke across Tobias’ face. “My pleasure.”

#

Will sat at his desk, grading papers about serial killers he’d been. It was a strange kind of abuse, teaching his students to write about the people who haunted his nightmares, and it was abuse, wasn’t it? Hannibal had been accurate in that regard. Sometimes Will wondered if he were a masochist for putting himself through this time and time again, or a sadist for delighting in pointing out all the ways his students were wrong.

His phone rang, making him jump at the abrupt noise. He pulled it from his pocket.

“Graham,” he answered tersely.

“Hello, Mr. Graham,” a smooth, feminine voice greeted. “I’m Lilian Howell, the vice principal at your daughter’s school. I’m calling regarding an incident with Jiali today.”

Will’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

“She’s all right, Mr. Graham. I don’t mean to cause any alarm.” She took a breath. “Jiali was being harassed by a group of boys earlier today. There wasn’t any physical harm, but they said some cruel things about her visual impairment. Another student reported the incident to the office, and we have since spoken with all the boys involved and your daughter. Jiali expressed to me that she was, in her own words, ‘unimpressed’ with the boys’ insults. Children can be intimidated by administration, though, and I’m not confident that she was completely honest with me. I thought I should let you know now to make sure she has your support at home.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Will shoved a hand through his hair and sighed. He had no doubt that Jia was, in fact, unimpressed with the insults. She had a thick skin. 

“I will be speaking with the boys’ parents today, but I wanted to reach out to you first. If you want to discuss ways to keep Jiali away from the boys in the future, we can also do that.”

Will didn’t think Jia would appreciate that. “Let me talk with her, and I’ll get back to you. She probably already has an idea of what she wants to do.”

“She seems very mature, your daughter.” The vice principal let out a breath. “Do you have any questions or concerns, Mr. Graham?”

“Not right now. Can I reach you at this number, Ms. Howell?”

“Yes. This is my cell.”

“All right. Thank you. Have a nice day.”

“You, too, Mr. Graham.”

He hung up and stared at his phone a moment. There were no texts from Jia. Either she hadn’t cared enough about what happened to tell him about it, or she was hiding it. It was probably the former, knowing her, but his paranoia insisted there was something more to the situation that she hadn’t brought it to his attention. 

He dialed.

“Hey, Dad,” Jia answered after two rings. “What’s up?”

He tapped a finger on his desk. “Just checking on you. How was school? Anything interesting?”

“Not really. Michelle ran into a pole. That was pretty funny.”

He frowned, the paranoia bubbling up again. “Well, I got a call from the school.”

She sighed. “Was it about those boys? Jesus, it wasn’t that big a deal.”

“The vice principal seemed to think it was. She’s apparently calling all the boys’ parents.” When he was met with silence, he added, “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” Her voice was gentle. “The mean things don’t matter because I know who I am. You taught me that.”

He smiled, his chest warm. “Well, so long as you’re okay.” He let out a long breath. “We can talk more about it at home. I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too, Dad. See you in a bit.”

He lowered the phone from his ear and pocketed it. Something turned in his stomach. Jia had her first session with Hannibal tomorrow, and she might tell him things she didn’t tell Will. And Hannibal wouldn’t be able to tell Will about it unless he thought she was a danger to herself or others. 

Will stared at all the ungraded papers and made a decision.

He packed up everything and left the Academy. Hannibal would have closed his office already, so Will went to his house. The beautifully pristine mass of white stone greeted him. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he came up to the front door, but he knocked all the same. 

Hannibal opened the door a moment later. His mouth opened.

“Would you keep secrets from me about my daughter?” Will blurted. “Like the thing with her father? I know you told me about it, obviously, but what about other things?”

Hannibal blinked and then stepped aside. “I think you should come in, Will.”

Will swallowed and crossed the threshold. He shrugged out of his coat as he walked down the hallway. Hannibal’s dining room wasn’t empty. Two plates sat across from each other, both with mostly uneaten food. 

“You have a guest?” Will prompted.

“A colleague.” Hannibal went to the glass doors across the room and closed them. “You just missed him.”

Will glanced at the food. “Didn’t finish his dinner.”

Hannibal shrugged. “An urgent call of some sort. He had to leave suddenly.” He turned and met Will’s eyes with a warm smile. “This benefits you, as I have dessert for two.”

They ventured into the kitchen. Hannibal grabbed a towel from the counter before pulling out a pair of creamy-looking masses. The scent of caramelized sugar pervaded the room.

“Tell me,” Hannibal said as he set the dish with the desserts on the counter, “what are you worried about with Jia?”

Will stood by the island in the center of the room. “That she hides things from me because she’s worried that I’ll worry about her. And I do worry about her. But I don’t want her to worry about my worrying.” He ran a hand down his face. “I’m not explaining this well.”

“On the contrary, Will—” Hannibal set his creations on waiting plates— “you make perfect sense. Jia is quite sensitive to your emotions, just as you are sensitive to hers—a pair of empaths, if you will. I don’t think, however, that you need to concern yourself with her hiding things from you. From what I’ve seen, you are her most trusted confidante. She’ll tell you the important things before she tells me.”

Will held his head in a hand. “She didn’t tell me about planning to kill her father.”

Hannibal went over to the fridge and pulled out a metal bowl. “I think that came from self-preservation, not worry. You catch killers, and she was fully prepared to become one at six.”

“She thought I’d think less of her?” That thought hurt worse than any gunshot or knife had.

“You hide a lot from her, Will, shielding her from the horrors of your work.” Hannibal scooped something that looked like whipped cream over the desserts. “You’ve given her your sense of morality as well. Killing people is bad. That is the understanding, isn’t it? She has no access to the nuance of such things. Does she know that you wanted to kill her father, that you wish it’d been you and not the Ripper?”

Will’s jaw clenched. How was he supposed to talk about that with a ten-year-old?

Hannibal grabbed a bowl of fragmented chocolate from the counter and sprinkled it over the desserts. He waited quietly while Will processed his words.

“So what do I do?” Will asked finally.

Hannibal poured some syrupy substance on the plate decoratively. “You open up. Trust is a two-way street.” He pushed one plate toward Will. “You don’t need to hide, Will, not from her.”

Will took the plate hesitantly. “I don’t think she’ll like what she finds.”

“She’s your entire world, and you’re hers. A bond like that is not so easily broken.” Hannibal looked him over a moment. “You said yourself that what you do is not good for you. What it does to you is not good for her either.”

“Well, unfortunately, I am good for it,” Will muttered bitterly. 

Hannibal wiped his hands on a towel absently. “Are you still hearing this killer’s serenade behind your eyes?”

Will chuckled darkly. “Well, it’s our song.”

Hannibal stiffened suddenly, but it was only for a moment. He relaxed his shoulders and folded up the towel, a contemplative look in his eyes.

“I hesitate telling you this,” he murmured haltingly, “as it borders on a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Will looked up from his plate curiously. It was rare to see Hannibal so cautious. He typically approached everything in life with confidence.

Hannibal chewed his lip a moment. “A patient told me today he suspects a friend of his maybe involved with the murder at the symphony.”

Tiredness fell on Will immediately. He’d been trying to forget the case, not revisit it. “Right.” He rubbed his eyes. “What did he say about his friend?”

“He owns a music store in Baltimore, specializing in string instruments.” Hannibal didn’t look at Will as he said, “Perhaps you should interview him.”

“Yeah.” Will nodded numbly. He’d have to call Jack. He really didn’t want to call Jack.

Hannibal gestured to the plate in Will’s hand. “Please. You look like you could use a break from all of this.”

Will picked up the fork on the plate and cut a piece of the mysterious confection. A symphonic collection of flavors filled his mouth on the first bite. Vanilla, chocolate, hints of orange, and caramel. An involuntary moan left him.

Hannibal’s grin was downright smug. “Good?”

“You know it is, Dr. Lecter.” Will leaned a hip on the counter and cut off another forkful. “I think I know how fish feel when they see a lure.”

“Afraid I’ll gut you once you’re caught?” Hannibal asked teasingly.

Will’s smile was wry. “You haven’t gut me yet.”

Hannibal couldn’t have missed the implication. Something shadowy flickered across his eyes, and then he slid a fork into his dessert. “Yet.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in a day. Triple enjoy.

“For the first time in a long while," Hannibal said, "I see a possibility of friendship.”

Bedelia glanced at Hannibal while she grabbed a notebook from her desk. He sat in the small sitting room of her house where they had their usual appointments. The tall windows on one wall allowed natural light into the space.

“Is there someone new in your life?” she asked as she took a seat in the chair across from him.

Hannibal frowned as he thought of Tobias. “I met a man much like myself. Same hobbies, same worldviews, but I’m not interested in being his friend. I’m curious about him, and that got me curious about friendship.”

Bedelia’s blue eyes were sharp as they passed over his face. “And whose friendship are you considering?”

“Oddly enough, a colleague and a patient, not unlike how I’m a colleague and a patient of yours.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “We’ve discussed him before.”

“Will Graham.”

Hannibal imagined scraping the name from her tongue with a scalpel. “He’s nothing like me. We see the world in different ways, yet he can assume my point of view.”

Bedelia’s eyes narrowed. “By profiling the criminally insane.” Her smile revealed too much.

“As good a demonstration as any,” Hannibal agreed lightly. “I find it reassuring.”

Her gaze seemed to say that she was thoroughly unsurprised. “It’s nice when someone sees us, Hannibal. Or has the ability to see us. It requires trust.” When Hannibal averted his gaze, she added, “Trust is difficult for you.”

He wondered if her flanks would be tender. “You’ve helped me to better understand what I want in a friendship and what I don’t.”

“Someone worthy of your friendship.”

“Yes.”

She never broke eye contact, undaunted by him as ever. “You spend a lot of time building walls, Hannibal. It’s natural to want to see if someone is clever enough to climb over them.”

He thought of Will’s eyes, how they saw too much, how they searched for the hunger within him. His daughter seemed to have acquired his observation skill. They were impressive, albeit unrefined. She would make a formidable profiler herself one day, if she followed in her father’s footsteps.

“He’s recently allowed his daughter to be my patient,” Hannibal said. “She’s quite a remarkable girl, exceedingly intelligent like her father.”

Bedelia was rigid. “You have a young girl under your care now?”

“Our first appointment is today, in fact.” He was looking forward to it, curious to see how dear Jia would surprise him.

“And what do you intend to accomplish with her?” Bedelia asked, voice tight and low.

He clasped his hands in his lap, savoring her discomfort. “Her father was murdered in front of her four years ago. She’s incredibly resilient, but she suffers from nightmares and anxiety.”

Bedelia stared at him a long moment. “And how do you think your treatment of this girl will affect your relationship with her father? Familial connections can get...complicated.”

Hannibal thought of Jia’s admittance of wanting to kill her biological father and smiled. “I think it’ll work out.”

#

When Will walked into Tobias Budge’s shop, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He should have expected the obvious psychopath that now stood before him, but perhaps he’d been hoping otherwise. Budge was tall, dark, and lean. He dressed colorfully, but tastefully. His eyes were dead, and Will knew as soon as he looked at his straight-backed posture that Budge’s ego was massive.

“Special Agent Will Graham with the FBI,” he greeted tiredly. “Are you the owner?”

Budge had the decency to fake surprise. “Yes. Tobias Budge. How can I help you?”

The police officers flanking Will started looking around. Budge didn’t seem concerned with them, which wasn’t normal. Most people, even innocent people, got nervous around cops.

“We’re investigating the death of Douglas Wilson,” Will explained. “He was—”

“The trombonist,” Budge filled in, looking far too delighted.

Will was glad he’d brought a gun today. He made a mental note to thank Hannibal for the lead. “That’s right. Did you know him?”

Budge didn’t flinch. “I was aware of him. Baltimore is a small town, and the cultural arts community is an even smaller one.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here, Mr. Budge.” Will started wondering if this guy would put up a fight if he were arrested.

“I hear someone cut his throat,” Budge said, “and tried to play it with a bow.”

Will’s eyes narrowed at the choice of words. “Why do you say ‘try’?”

Budge had a frown. “Well, the string have to be treated. You can’t just open somebody up and draw a bow across their innards and expect to produce a sound.”

So the guy was an idiot, too.

“The vocal cords were chemically treated,” Will explained, “similar to how catgut string is treated. We kept those details out of the press.”

Budge followed him into a side room filled with cellos. “Looking for someone who knows how to manufacture gut strings, Agent Graham?”

Will sighed, tired of this. He should’ve been teaching a class right now. “Anybody leap to mind?”

“Mine are imported from Italy.” Budge grabbed a reel of strings from a dresser and handed it to Will. “Best catgut is. The string section of the Baltimore Metropolitan Orchestra refuses to play anything else.” 

Will briefly wondered how many human innards were in his hand at the moment. Maybe all of them. “More authentic,” he said and handed the strings back.

“A richer, darker sound.” Budge looked over the strings far too lovingly. “Allows music to say what words can’t.”

Will was about to start prodding for more when he heard tires screech and metal hitting metal outside. His head perked up. A car accident?

“Something wrong?” Budge prompted, looking Will over curiously.

“Didn’t you hear that?” Will asked.

Budge glanced at the police officers. 

“I didn’t hear anything,” one of the officers said, brows furrowing.

Will rushed outside. There was no sign of an accident on the street. People walked by casually, chatting with each other. Cars passed unobstructed. The animal shrieking in Will’s ears made him take off his glasses and push at his eyes. He’d forgotten to take his antibiotics again. Jia was going to be angry.

He took a moment to breathe the cold air before returning into the shop. “Sorry about that,” he announced and was met with silence. The shop was empty. 

Fuck.

He pulled out his gun as he edged toward the side room. One officer was dead on the floor, bleeding into a rug from the slit in his throat. Will called it in immediately, giving the responder their location and requesting an ambulance. There likely was no helping the officer, but sometimes he was surprised.

There was another door in this room. He cautiously stepped toward it and was immeasurably disappointed to find steps down into a dark, creepy basement. Why did psychopaths always have dark, creepy basements? They couldn’t have well-lit basements?

It was all gray stone and musty air. The first sight that greeted will were jars stacked on shelves, filled with unprocessed gut probably. Racks of drying string hung in the center. One wall was lined with tools used in the process. A sink filled with intestines made him grimace. Obscuring the far wall was a cloth partition.

He inched closer to the partition and pushed it aside. The second officer was face-down in a sink. Wires that were used to hang gut were keeping his head from slipping entirely into whatever liquid filled the basin. Will pulled him back by the collar, only to find bloody lines where wire had cut into his face.

He barely heard the footfalls in time to bring his hands up. Budge brought the wire up, attempting to choke him, but Will’s hands got in the way. A strong body pressed to his back, trapping him. He gritted his teeth as he maneuvered his hand against the wires’ bite to point his gun over his shoulder. 

The blast deafened him instantly. The wires around him fell as Budge stumbled away. Will staggered after him, clutching his ringing ear with one hand. Budge was nimble, zigzagging, and Will didn’t have a steady enough hand to aim a decent shot. His bullets bounced off the walls futilely.

Sirens blared in the distance now, barely audible over the ringing. He cursed as he stumbled up the steps. Where was Budge going to go?

#

Hannibal sat across from Jia at his desk. She’d brought her adapted chessboard, and he had decided to humor her with a game to get her more comfortable in his office. The black tiles were raised slightly, letting her feel where on the board they were. She could feel the different shape of the pieces to figure out which one they were. The black pieces all had bumps on the top.

“Your father mentioned that you had an issue at school yesterday,” Hannibal said as he cornered her bishop with a knight.

She gently felt over the board, careful not to move or knock over pieces. “A bunch of boys who think my eyes look funny. They said I look like an alien.” She took his knight with her queen—an aggressive play.

He inched a bishop closer, prepared to corner her queen. “And how does that make you feel?” 

“Amused.” She paused a moment while she felt over the pieces and finally settled on moving her queen back to a more defensible position. “I don’t know what an alien looks like. It means nothing to me. Besides, all I need to do to make them squirm is say a couple words. What could they say to me that’s worse than what my ba did?”

Hannibal chuckled and lined a bishop up to take her queen. “What would you say to them to make them squirm?”

She hummed in thought and then pushed her pawn in the bishop’s way. “Things that would hurt in ways that mattered. They say mean things that I don’t care about, as if they could take the insults they dish out. Brian’s parents are going through a divorce. He’s embarrassed by it. All it would take to hurt him would be to make him think he should be ashamed.”

Hannibal’s brows climbed his forehead. “And what about the other boys? Do you know what makes them squirm?”

“Andy’s sister was kicked out for getting pregnant at sixteen. Casey’s cousin is in prison, and he doesn’t like when people point out that they look alike.”

Hannibal pushed his knight forward. “Do you often keep these records of other people’s points of weakness?”

Jia moved her bishop into the middle of the board. “I listen. People talk a lot, usually about things that don’t matter, but they talk and share. So I listen.”

“An important skill.” He inched his bishop forward. “Words can do more harm than violence sometimes. Your intelligence is your greatest weapon.”

She sighed and pushed her queen across the board. “Checkmate.”

Hannibal blinked and looked down. He was delighted to find that she had cornered his king.

“Dad thinks I’m nice,” she continued, not gloating or even acknowledging her win. “I don’t think I’m nice.”

“What do you think you are?” Hannibal asked. He found himself as fascinated with this child as he was with her father.

She tapped a finger on his desk the same way Will did. “Cruel. The teachers don’t usually punish me for the things I say the way they punish people for hitting, but words hurt. I know they do. I want them to hurt for the things they say. A girl made my friend cry because she said Michelle was ugly, so I told the girl that everyone can see how desperate she is for attention and that no one will ever really love her for her, just how she pretends to be. They didn’t punish me for that, but the girl cried for hours in the bathroom like how she made Michelle cry.”

Hannibal grinned. “And how did that make you feel?”

“Good. She got what she deserved.” She paused for a beat. “Ba got what he deserved.”

“Yes, he did.”

She opened her mouth, but then her head turned abruptly. “You have a guest.”

The door opened a second later. Tobias stepped in, a chunk of his ear missing in the shape of a bullet hole. Hannibal was immediately on his feet. The way his stomach twisted was sour, like expired meat.

“Mr. Budge,” Hannibal greeted and walked around the desk, putting himself in front of Jia.

“Where’s Franklyn?” Tobias asked. “I came to say goodbye.”

Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back and gently pushed Jia’s shoulder until she stood. “I’m afraid I moved his appointment to a slightly later time.” He looked Tobias over. “Is that all you own blood?”

“I just killed two men.”

Jia tensed. Hannibal’s chest was tight. It’d been too much to hope that Will would win. The disappointment didn’t taste bitter like good wine, more like wilted kale. 

“Get under the desk,” Hannibal whispered.

Jia crawled under the desk immediately.

“The police came to question question me about the murder,” Tobias continued. “I fled.”

Hannibal stepped closer. “Well, I’m with a patient right now. You’ll have to wait for Franklyn.”

Tobias tossed his coat aside. Metal wires dropped from his sleeve. Hannibal dodged the first swing that came at him, wires whistling through the air it cut. Tobias stepped forward, and Hannibal stepped back. The next swing was easy to dodge. It was harder to avoid the lunge Tobias followed up with, and Hannibal stumbled back at the kick that hit his gut.

He grabbed the ladder up to the mezzanine and slid it between them. The wires hit the wood, giving Hannibal enough to to get into Tobias’ space. He landed a punch before another swipe wrapped the wires around his forearm. Sharp pain followed blood as the metal cut through fabric and skin. A pity. Hannibal liked this shirt.

He threw himself at Tobias, trying to wrestle free the wire. Tobias was strong. He wouldn’t relent control. So Hannibal slammed his forehead into the man’s nose, letting his rage fuel the blow. Tobias stumbled back. He slammed into the desk with a grunt and tried to recover his footing. Hannibal tackled him.

They careened over the desk and dropped onto the floor. Jia’s yelp brought Hannibal’s eyes to his desk where she was curled up under it. Tobias’ foot struck Hannibal in the cheek. The bones crunched, but Hannibal didn’t linger on his pain and launched himself up. His shoulder knocked the air from Tobias. They staggered back into the ladder, and then Tobias grabbed for the nearest object—a letter opener.

Hannibal grunted when the blade sunk into his leg. Tobias threw him back onto the desk, drawing a cry from Jia. The little sound sparked a new rage in Hannibal’s gut. He grabbed Tobias’ wrist, preventing the letter opener from sinking into his chest. His hand fumbled for a pencil on the desk, and Tobias didn’t dodge the sharp point when Hannibal brought it to his bicep. The letter opened clattered on the floor.

Hannibal shoved Tobias off him, only to be kicked backward again. They exchanged blows. It seemed a losing battle, as Hannibal was older and slower. But the ladder was still close by. When Tobias slammed him back into it, Hannibal didn’t move. He met Tobias’ eyes, daring the man to strike again.

Tobias grinned as he threw the punch. Hannibal sidestepped it, letting the fist go between the rungs. He grabbed Tobias’ wrist on the other side and yanked viciously. The bones of his elbow gave with musical cracks. Tobias’ scream was almost as melodic.

And then Hannibal let him go. This had to look as much like self-defense as possible. Jia’s testimony wouldn’t mean much since she was blind. 

Tobias swung with his good arm. Hannibal admired the persistence a moment before he blocked the punch and struck Tobias in the throat. Beautiful, choking gasps filled the room. Tobias fell to his knees, trying to suck in air he wouldn’t get. Hannibal limped over to the stag statue sitting on a display table. He took the handkerchief from his breast pocket to lift it.

The crunch of Tobias’ skull under the heavy bronze was gratifying. Hannibal dropped the statue on the floor and then knocked over the display table, giving the appearance that he’d grabbed the blunt object in a panic. It’d be enough. No one was going to look too closely at Hannibal’s intentions, especially not with a child in the room that he was protecting.

He stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket as he pulled out his phone and dialed 911. Jia crawled out cautiously while he told the responder his location and asked for medical assistance.

“Is he dead?” she breathed.

Hannibal dropped into his desk chair gracelessly and opened the bottom drawer where he kept a medical kit. “He’s very dead, my dear.”

“Good.” She clutched to the desk. “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” He took a tourniquet from the kit and wrapped it around his thigh, right above where Tobias had stabbed him. It’d missed any arteries, but he’d need a brace and stitches.

As soon as he was done, he pulled Jia to him and set her on his good leg. She was shaking violently with adrenaline. Her tiny hands gripped his suit as she rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, an odd kind of protectiveness creeping into his chest. She was so small and fierce at the same time. It seemed a shame to let her disappear from the world. 

The paramedics were there within two minutes. They immediately started treating Hannibal’s leg. He’d have to go to the hospital, but it could wait until after he’d answered the police’s questions. Jia clung to him the whole time. He wasn’t sure what she’d do when she heard that her father wouldn’t be coming. Maybe he’d try to adopt her and foster that fire in her until it was something that could scorch the earth.

But then Will stepped in. 

He came with the FBI agents and police who flooded into the office. Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat when storm blue eyes found his, and pride welled in his chest. Will had been attacked, if the lacerations on his hands and forearms were anything to go by. But he’d lived. And he was here.

Will rushed over to Jia who still sat in Hannibal’s lap, clinging to his suit. She hadn’t cried at all, but as soon as she heard her father, tears spilled from her eyes. Her arms wrapped around Will’s neck. He lifted her easily into his arms and buried his face in her neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She sobbed into his shoulder quietly. Will bounced her slightly as she cried and held her as tightly as she held him. It was several minutes before she calmed down enough to be set down in a chair a paramedic pulled over.

Will kissed her forehead. “I need to speak with Dr. Lecter and the police for a little bit, but as soon as I’m done, we’re going to go home, all right?”

She nodded wordlessly.

Will’s eyes turned to Hannibal. They were wide and warm and shy all at once.

“Hannibal,” he rasped, name falling from his lips like a prayer.

“I was worried you were dead,” Hannibal murmured, surprised at how the remnants of his fear clung to him. The relief was so much sweeter.

A corner of Will’s lips lifted momentarily. He lifted a hand, as if to touch Hannibal, but then dropped it. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for protecting her.”

Jack wandered over from the door to stand in front of the desk. “Tobias Budge killed two Baltimore police officers,” he said, “nearly killed an FBI special agent, and after all that, his first stop is here, at your office.”

“Franklyn,” Jia murmured.

All eyes turned to her.

“He said he wanted to say goodbye to Franklyn.” She drew her knees up to her chest.

“He came to kill my patient,” Hannibal clarified. “Franklyn. I moved his time slot, so I could meet with Jia.”

Jack glanced at the little girl and then back at Tobias’ body. 

Will rubbed the scabbed lines on his arms. “Your patient,” he murmured. “Is that who Budge was serenading?”

“I don’t know,” Hannibal lied and let out a breath. Blood loss was making him slightly dizzy. “When Tobias realized Franklyn wasn’t here, he attacked me. I had Jia hide under the desk the whole time. I don’t know what he would have done if he’d succeeded in killing me.”

Will’s face darkened. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“You killed him?” Jack prompted, ever the skeptic.

Hannibal dropped his gaze and swallowed, as if unsettled by his actions. “Yes.”

Will let out a breath. “Could Franklyn have been involved in whatever Budge was doing?”

“I thought this was a simple matter of poor choice in friends.” He glanced at Jia, and then Will. He could have lost them both today.

“This doesn’t feel simple to me,” Jack muttered cryptically and then headed away to check on the various FBI agents scouring the room. 

Will sat on the edge of the desk and lifted a hand. He didn’t pull it back this time and gently turned Hannibal’s chin left and right, inspecting the damage. 

“I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world,” he breathed ruefully as he dropped his hand. His eyes turned to Jia. “Both of you.”

Hannibal shook his head. “I got here on my own.” He lifted his eyes to Will’s. “But I appreciate the company.”

That drew a shaky smile from Will, as Hannibal had hoped. 

“Go home, Will,” Hannibal murmured. “Hold your daughter close. Tell her you love her.”

“No,” Jia mumbled.

Will and Hannibal both turned their heads to look at her. She climbed out of her chair and inched closer to them with her hands out until she found Hannibal’s arm. Her hands enclosed around his shirt.

“No,” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

Will crouched down and held her around the waist. “Dr. Lecter needs to go to the hospital, Jia, and we can’t stay here.”

“He’s going to disappear,” she breathed. “I don’t want him to disappear.”

Will seemed at a loss for what to do, so Hannibal spoke up.

“Do you want to keep me near, Jia?” he asked. “Are you afraid that, if I leave, you won’t see me again?”

She nodded.

“What if I visit you tomorrow?”

“No.”

Will looked Hannibal over. “Do you have anyone to take care of you?” he asked. “You could… I mean, I could drive you to the hospital, and you could rest at our house.”

Hannibal could hardly turn down an invitation to the Grahams’ residence. “That’s very generous of you. I would appreciate it.”

Jia’s head lifted. “So you’ll stay?”

“Yes, darling girl. I’ll stay.” 

When Hannibal looked up, Will was staring down at him, something dark and warm in his gaze. It made Hannibal’s chest burn.

“Thank you,” Will murmured, and the words felt heavy between them with a weight that neither could define.

Hannibal didn’t resist the urge to take Will’s hand and inspect the lines there where wire had cut into them. “No, Will. Thank you.”


	11. Chapter 11

This wasn’t something Will did. He didn’t take people home and hadn’t in the four years since he’d adopted Jia. She needed stability and care. It had never really occurred to Will that there might be someone who could provide both.

Hannibal lay on the couch with Jia sprawled over him. His fingers absently ran through her hair while he read a book. He didn’t seem concerned with her weight on his braced leg, so Will didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just watched and tried not to think about the implications of this. Thinking too hard right now would ruin the peace. It was easier to just live in the illusion for a little bit.

Hannibal kept a change of clothes in his car, but that didn’t include pajamas. So he wore a pair of Will’s sweats and a white undershirt. It was the most informal Will had ever seen his psychiatrist, and he might have appreciated the novelty of it more if the lizard part of his brain wasn’t currently preening over the sight of his clothes on Hannibal. And Jia looked like she belonged there, in Hannibal’s arms. Will couldn’t say just when she’d fallen asleep, but she clearly had gotten over her anxiety enough to slip under. That’d been Hannibal’s doing.

Will didn’t know what to do with all these...feelings. When he’d gotten the call that Hannibal had been attacked in his office with Jia there, he’d been in such a blind panic that he’d barely been able to think. He kept imagining her and Hannibal, bleeding out on the office floor. The relief when he’d seen his daughter wrapped up in Hannibal’s arms had nearly sent him to his knees. She’d cried. She never cried. But she’d been unharmed, not so much as a scratch on her. 

Because of Hannibal.

He bore the marks of his fight with Tobias—a split lip, bruises, injured leg. The very sight of them had made Will’s blood boil. His anger was tempered only by the knowledge that Hannibal had killed Tobias, crushed his skull with that blasted stag sculpture. Will had no trouble admitting that he wished he’d been the one to do it, and there was no small level of guilt in knowing that if he’d shot Tobias in the shop, Hannibal and Jia would have never been in danger to begin with.

It’d taken no small measure of control not to touch Hannibal more, to ground him as real and whole—alive. Will still felt the urge now. He didn’t consider himself particularly tactile in the first place, and the desire sat oddly under his skin. Most of the time, in fact, he was averse to touch, with some exceptions. Seeking it out at all seemed antithetical to Will’s nature. But it was there all the same.

“Do you intend to stand in the doorway all night, Will?” Hannibal asked, his voice disrupting the silence.

Will stepped into the room and settled on the floor, back against the couch. It felt like too much right now to look at Hannibal.

“How’s your leg?” Will mumbled because it seemed like the thing to ask.

The sound of a page turning, and then: “Sore, but not terrible.”

Will closed his eyes and let his head lean back. He didn’t dwell on if the softness behind him was couch cushion or Hannibal’s arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop him back at the shop. He caught me by surprise.”

“He was formidable, Will. I barely escaped with my life.” Hannibal was quiet a moment. “When he said he’d killed two people… I was so afraid you were one of them. Holding Jia after it was all over, I kept thinking that you’d make a better father than me for her, but I would have kept her...and your memory.”

Will’s heart nearly stopped at the admission. “You would have adopted her if I’d died?”

“It’s not selfless. She may not be your blood, but she’s so much like you, Will. Keeping her, I think, is like keeping part of you—your legacy. I do appreciate her for her as well, but it would be dishonest to say that is the only reason I want to keep her around.” Hannibal’s voice was soft, almost sweet. “She is as extraordinary as her father.”

Will’s throat was tight. It was all he could do to breathe. And then Hannibal’s fingers threaded through his hair, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle the choked sound that escaped him.

“Will,” Hannibal breathed. “Did I upset you?”

Upset was the furthest thing from Will’s mind. He’d spent the last four years cautious of who he let into his life. Alana and Beverly were the closest, but they both kept a respectful distance, never infringing on his family or overstepping their bounds. Hannibal had waltzed over all of Will’s boundaries and situated himself behind those carefully placed walls like he belonged there. He felt like he belonged there.

“I can’t cut you out now,” Will murmured, “even if I wanted to. Jia’s never letting you go.”

Hannibal was quiet, fingers pressing into Will’s scalp absently. “And what about you? Do you want to let me go?”

Will took a deep breath. “No.”

“You’re very careful about who you let into your world—to protect her.” The sound of a book closing. “To protect yourself.”

Will listened to his own heartbeat. Down this path lay madness. It’d been years since he let anyone in, had wanted to let anyone in. And it was difficult and uncomfortable and...good. No one had ever really known him like Hannibal did. Alana was the closest to get to him, but she always got caught in the quirks of his mind rather than the person beneath. Hannibal looked beyond, looked into the darkest parts of Will, and didn’t flinch. He _saw_.

“Where do we go from here?” Will mumbled, more to himself than Hannibal.

Hannibal let out a slow breath. “That’s up to you.”

Will finally worked up the nerve to turn his head and look up at Hannibal. The amber eyes that stared back at him sent shocks through his limbs.

“I’m...complicated,” Will said haltingly. “My life is complicated. You got hurt today because I couldn’t stop Budge. What about the next time, the next psycho? There’s always another.”

Hannibal didn’t so much as blink when he replied, “I’ll just have to kill them, too.”

Will’s chuckle was ripped from him, dark and airy. “I’d rather not repeat today. I was...terrified.”

“The prospect of death is what makes life so precious.” Hannibal’s fingers trailed down to the side of Will’s neck, eliciting a shiver. “You and Jia are precious.”

“You can’t just say something like that.” 

Will felt the tenuous hold on his restraint cracking. This was a bad idea. He wasn’t good in relationships, and the stakes were so much higher with Jia involved. Fucking this up would rob him of a friend and Jia of a father figure in one go. Or worse, if Hannibal was hurt... Well, Will didn’t know if he could go through this again without cracking open a dark part of himself that he barely kept contained. 

He still wondered if he could cut Budge’s hands off.

“I’m patient, Will,” Hannibal whispered. “I’ll wait.”

Inevitable. That’s what this felt like. Will was staring over the edge of a cliff, working up the nerve to jump and wondering if there were rocks at the bottom.

He pulled away reluctantly. “I need to get Jia to bed,” he said. “I’ll be back down after to help set up the pull-out.”

Hannibal nodded, and Will scooped his daughter into his arms. She was a heavy sleeper, so he wasn’t surprised that she didn’t wake up the entire trip to her bedroom. He laid her on her bed and tucked her under the sheets. She grabbed her pillow in a little fist while rolling onto her stomach. It was her preferred sleeping position. 

He kissed her cheek before heading back downstairs. Hannibal had gotten to his feet already and removed the couch cushions. Will pulled out the bed. It already had sheets, so he just grabbed a blanket from a basket in the corner and laid it out. Hannibal sank onto the foot of the bed, careful of his leg.

“How are you feeling?” Will asked as he sat beside him. “Can I get you anything?”

Hannibal smiled. “I’m all right, Will. You’ve done more than enough.”

Will stared at his hands in his lap. “It doesn’t seem like enough. You saved my daughter.”

“Anyone would have, in my position.” When Will had no reply, Hannibal said, “I’m not tired yet.”

“Neither am I.” Will chewed his lip a moment. “Would you like company for a bit?”

Hannibal chuckled softly. “I will never refuse your company, Will.”

“I should be so honored. Good food and good company?”

“I prefer a combination.” Hannibal’s smile was broad. “I don’t think I’ll be devouring you tonight, though.”

Will’s blush touched his ears. “Was I on the table?”

Hannibal arched a brow, something predatory in his eyes. “I think this metaphor has gotten away from us. I simply meant to say that I enjoy your presence.”

“You would be one of very few.” Will leaned back on the bed with a sigh. “I am, as you said, unbearable.”

Hannibal frowned. “I hope you know I said that in jest. I don’t believe you’re unbearable at all.”

Will’s lips twitched. “That makes you a very rare person, indeed.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being self-deprecating or flattering me.” Hannibal lay beside him. “Or insulting me.”

Will chuckled. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

“Oh, don’t do that. My imagination can run wild with me, not always for the better.”

“That makes two of us.”

They chatted for a long time. The tone was different from their conversations in Hannibal’s office, more informal and meandering. Hannibal asked about past cases, and Will asked about Hannibal’s history as a doctor. It was...normal—comfortable. 

And when Will woke at four in the morning to find he was still on the pull-out beside Hannibal, he barely entertained the idea of heading to his own bed before closing his eyes again.

#

The weekend came without incident. Jia recovered quickly after just a day spent with Hannibal. He’d cleared his schedule for the week, both because his office was still being cleaned and because he wanted to take full advantage of Will’s hospitality. They parted Thursday evening. It gave Jia and Will time to miss Hannibal before Saturday when they had their planned fishing trip.

His absence had the desired effect. By the time he returned with Abigail, Jia and Will were anxious to see him. Will was more subtle about it, maintaining a couple feet of distance, but his eyes lingered a little too long. Each glance made Hannibal’s skin warm. Attraction. It was spicy and sweet, and he relished in the pangs of it. Will likely wouldn’t act on his desire, not yet anyway. Hannibal delighted in the idea of filling Will’s head so much that the heat between them was all he thought about.

They went to a river not far out from the Grahams' home. Hannibal couldn’t fish while his leg was braced, so he sat on the bank with Jia while Abigail went out with Will. The familial connection was obvious. Abigail and Will wore matching waders. He had a big smile while he taught her how to use the fishing equipment, and she beamed every time she got something right. Hannibal and Jia had started another chess game, but also brought books.

“You said you'd like a sibling,” Hannibal said as he pushed his knight out of the way of a bishop. "Any reason why?"

“It seems...nice. Like a friend I get to live with. My friends don’t get along with their siblings, though. They fight a lot. I don’t want to fight with anyone.” She took his rook with a knight.

“Do you fight with Abigail?” Hannibal asked and moved a pawn out of the way of his bishop.

“No, she’s really nice.” Jia moved her rook forward. “Check.”

He took her rook with a knight. “She said you helped her with a nightmare last time she was here.”

She moved her bishop across the board. “She calmed down faster than Dad does. He can’t usually fall back asleep.”

“Do you deal with your father’s nightmares a lot?” Hannibal positioned his knight to take her queen.

“No, just when I sleep in his bed and only if it’s not that bad. He doesn’t usually stay still long enough for me to calm him down.” She moved her queen forward to take his knight. “Check.”

His brows furrowed at the reckless move, but he captured her queen with a bishop. “That must be hard.”

“Sometimes, but he hasn’t been having nightmares as much since he started taking the antibiotics.” She sighed and moved her rook through the space her bishop had been. “Checkmate.”

Hannibal still couldn’t be mad at her victory. “A bold strategy, sacrificing your queen.”

“Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to win.” She had a little smile. “Dad didn’t go to bed the night you stayed over, not his bed anyway.” 

Hannibal made a mental note never to underestimate this child. She would be a truly fearsome creature in a couple years. “He fell asleep while we were talking.”

Her smile widened. “So I heard.”

“Worried I’ll take him from you?” he asked, honestly curious about her thoughts on his relationship with Will.

Her expression fell. “Figuratively? No.”

What a clever girl. “I have no intention of taking your father away, my dear.”

“Good.” Her fingers unerringly found his king. “The queen is a king’s last line of defense, but she’s also his greatest offense.”

Her words were innocuous enough, but Hannibal understood the threat in them. She might have even built a failsafe for herself already in the event that something happened to her or Will. He wondered what she’d come up with.

“It’s almost impossible to win once the queen is taken,” he said, following her metaphor.

She put his king back. “Are you considering strategies for our next game, Dr. Lecter?”

He smiled. “Aren’t you?”

“Always.” She turned her head slightly, ear cocked toward Abigail and Will. “You’re a funny man, Dr. Lecter. I like you, and my dad likes you.”

“That makes me funny?”

“You made him laugh. Not many people can do that.” Her expression was soft. “I feel like I owe you.”

He didn’t ask for clarification on what she meant. So long as they kept up these thinly veiled allusions to their shared history, he’d never explicitly confirm nor deny anything she said. It was pointless to lie outright and dangerous to confirm.

They played another game, which she won again, before settling to read their own books. The hours passed quietly. Hannibal was again struck with how domestic his time with the Grahams had become, and it wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, he found the ease of it quite enjoyable, a warmth to settle into and indulge in. It wouldn’t last forever. But that was why it was precious.

Will and Abigail finished up before noon with a decent haul. They packed up soon after and returned to the Grahams’ house. Hannibal insisted on helping to gut and clean the fish, and Will didn’t put up much protest. They were both quick and efficient in processing the meat, with deft hands accustomed to taking viscera apart. Will urged Hannibal to relax as soon as the work was done.

Abigail brought a keyboard down from Jia’s bedroom. Hannibal sat on the back porch, watching Will grill, as Chopin drifted out of the house. He continued reading his book, ensuring Will would have to initiate if he wanted Hannibal’s engagement. But it came as no surprise when Will spoke.

“Have you beat Jia at chess yet?” he asked as he poked at a fish with tongs.

“Not yet.” Hannibal looked up from his book to gaze over the frosted fields behind Will’s house. “I don’t know if I’ll ever beat her.”

Will smiled. “You don’t seem concerned about that.”

“The fun is in playing the game, Will.” Hannibal closed his book. “And in not knowing if I’ll fail.”

Will’s scoff was more a chuckle. “You strike me as the sort to succeed more often than you fail.”

“A healthy balance of both is necessary to keep life interesting. Fail too often, and we’re prone to giving up. Succeed too often, and it gets boring.” Hannibal let his eyes trail up Will’s form. “Besides, failure makes success all the sweeter.”

Will pointedly stared at the grill. “I can’t disagree with that.”

Hannibal was about to reply when the sound of glass shattering brought him to his feet. He and Will rushed into the house, book and grill forgotten.

Abigail and Jia were both in the kitchen. Glass shards covered the floor—a shattered cup, if the water that glittered on the tile was any indication. Jia was at the epicenter of the glass, standing statue still. Her feet were bare. One was bleeding, and she stood on the one that wasn’t, ankle wobbling as she struggled to keep balance.

“It’s okay,” Abigail said gently, standing out of the way of the glass. “Just don’t move. Stay right there.”

Will rushed forward, his boots crunching on the shards. He lifted Jia before she could fall and carried her into the dining room. Hannibal followed closely, another opportunity unfolding before his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jia mumbled as her father set her on a chair. “It slipped.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Will murmured distractedly and crouched down to inspect her feet.

Hannibal bent to look at the damage. She’d stepped on a shard. It was still lodged in the skin, but it was hard to say how deeply.

“I have a medical kit in my car,” Hannibal said and straightened. “Don’t touch it.”

Will just nodded in answer. Hannibal went out to his car to grab the kit, and then came back. Abigail and Will were both holding Jia’s hands and murmuring soothing things. Jia didn’t seem to need it, her jaw set and eyes dry. 

Hannibal knelt before her and pulled on gloves. She hissed through her teeth while he dabbed gauze over her foot, letting him look at the wound without blood obscuring it. The shard was in fairly deep, but not bone deep. It’d need stitches. When he offered to add them here, Will agreed immediately.

So Hannibal went through the careful process of pulling the shard out and flushing the wound with sterile saline solution to rinse out any particulates. He added some antiseptic for good measure, which stung, but Jia still didn’t cry, just held the hands in hers tighter. She was still stone-faced when he injected some local anesthetic around the wound. That she couldn’t see at least afforded her the benefit of not having to watch him stick needles in her.

When he was done with the stitches, he wrapped a bandage around the wound to keep it clean. She probably wouldn’t be able to walk on her foot for a week at least. It was just three stitches, but movement would pull painfully at her skin.

“You were very brave, Jia,” he said as he packed up his supplies and pulled off his gloves. “A perfect patient.”

Her smile came slowly.

He peered up at her, suddenly very aware that he was on his knees at her feet. She slipped her hand from Abigail’s grip and cautiously found Hannibal’s cheek. Her fingers were gentle in pressing into his skin. 

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter,” she murmured the same way she did ‘checkmate.’

A smile crept onto his face. He looked forward to seeing what pieces she’d moved.


	12. Chapter 12

When Will pulled up to the BSHCI with Jack, anticipation and skepticism thrummed through him in equal measure. Abel Gideon had murdered a nurse within the hospital’s bleak, stone walls. The kill looked like the Chesapeake Ripper’s MO, according to Dr. Frederick Chilton who ran the BSHCI.

“Thanks to Freddie Lounds,” Jack grumbled as they got out of the car, “there’s an unconfirmed story floating out there that the Chesapeake Ripper’s already in custody.”

“Unconfirmed,” Will said on a sigh. “Am I confirming?”

“You’re fact-checking for me.”

They headed up the BSHCI’s steps. Will stared up at the rounded stone structure with a grimace.

“I always feel a little nervous going into these places,” he mumbled. 

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why’s that?”

Will was only half-joking when he said, “Afraid they won’t let me out.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave you here.”

“Maybe not today.”

They wandered inside, through cold, white halls, until they came to Chilton’s office. Jack gave the introductions. Will wasn’t all that interested in getting to know Chilton. The pompous psychiatrist was gaudy and wore his ego worse than his suit. Will couldn’t help thinking that at least Hannibal had the grace of manners and charm to refine his extravagant personality. And by the time Chilton suggested Will subject himself to psychiatric study, he was already imagining forking the man’s tongue to make him look as snake-like as he seemed.

The crime scene was more interesting. Gideon had impaled the nurse with several IV stands, giving the illusion that she was set upon a set of pikes. Her eyes were missing. Blood stained her white scrubs and decorated the floors of the medical ward. Empty beds lining the walls were nearly spotless. No arterial spray then.

Will closed his eyes.

He’s tied to a gurney, rolling toward the medical ward. The nurse attaches nodes to his chest while he pretends to be unconscious. Her footfalls move away, and he slips out the sliver of metal he’d embedded into the heel of his palm. Unlocking his cuffs is relatively easy. It’s near silent. The nurse doesn’t turn from setting up an IV until he’s right behind her.

He doesn’t give her the time to scream. His strike hits her directly in the throat. She stumbles back into the shelving unit behind her, knocking over medical supplies. Her gasps make him feel nothing, though he thinks they should, and he throws her to the floor. His hands find her head while he straddles her chest. A silent scream tears up her throat when he jambs his thumbs into her eyes. 

The pops aren’t satisfying either.

He stands again and watches her crawl blindly away from him. There is no design now when there should be. It seems fine enough to grab an IV pole and impale her through it.

Will’s eyes snapped open. The thrill of the kill still vibrated through him, threatening to upheave his breakfast. He swallowed and took a breath. It did little for his nerves, but he didn’t think he’d disturb a crime scene.

“As far as we know,” Will mumbled, “it’s been over two years since the Chesapeake Ripper killed?”

Jack nodded. “That’s correct.”

There were the organ harvester murders, but with no way to confirm that the Ripper was responsible for any of them, they couldn’t be used as evidence. 

Will couldn’t believe he was considering this. “When was Gideon admitted?” he asked.

“Almost two years ago.” Jack sounded like he wanted to believe the Ripper was here in the BSHCI.

Will wished it were that simple, but this wasn’t the Ripper. This wasn’t his design. It was...compulsion, like he was killing because he was supposed to. All of this theatre was a knock-off performance of a Broadway production. No tact. No elegance. No passion.

Alana came a few minutes later, and they reconvened in Chilton’s office. Will occupied himself with staring out the window while Alana and Chilton talked, half-listening to the conversation. He was almost offended at being called here, and he was preemptively offended for everyone’s inevitable questioning of his findings. Hannibal would be getting an earful later, which really meant he’d watch Will pace in silent anger.

“The volume of Abel Gideon’s mail is becoming a nuisance,” Chilton was saying. “Sometimes I feel like his secretary, rather than his keeper.”

Alana sat in front of Chilton’s desk, face schooled to professional stoicism. She must have really hated Chilton to put that face on. 

“Any specific correspondances that stood out from the others?” she prompted. 

Chilton shrugged. “Mostly researchers or PhD candidates requesting interviews. A scattered dozen lonely hearts seeking his hand in marriage.”

Alana frowned. “He butchered his last wife and her family on Thanksgiving.”

“There’s no accounting for taste—or intelligence.”

Will couldn’t take this anymore. “Murdering his wife was impulsive,” he said, finally turning away from the window. “The Chesapeake Ripper is methodical, meticulous. That’s why he’s so hard to catch.”

Chilton had a wry smirk. “ _Was_ so hard to catch.”

Will didn’t so much briefly consider mutilating that smug face as he did consider it at length. He turned back to the window, resigned to simmer in silence.

“Will you be conducting a joint interview?” Chilton asked Alana.

She shook her head. “Separate. Compare and contrast.”

“I know you’re anxious to get on with it.” Chilton’s arrogance was staggering. “You have talked to Gideon before, for some length of time.”

“Well, I saw him mainly in court,” Alana hedged. “I wrote an article about him in the Journal of Criminal Psychology.”

Chilton stood. “He is very familiar with you. He’s given you a lot of thought.”

Will spun around to face Alana. “You had some sessions with him?” He didn’t mean the question to come out so harshly, but he didn’t like the idea of her being on some psycho’s radar.

“Yes, two,” she confirmed simply. “It was a couple years ago when he was first institutionalized.”

That meant she was on his kill list, at the very least. 

“I’ve read your notes, of course,” Chilton said as he flipped through papers on his desk. “They were more or less helpful as I conducted my own interviews with Dr. Gideon over the years.”

Alana smiled tightly. “Well, I’m glad I was helpful.”

“More or less,” Will echoed with a scoff.

All eyes set on him in the tense pause that followed the acknowledgement of Chilton’s rudeness. Alana was the one to break the silence. 

“I’ll go first,” she said and grabbed her bag before leaving. 

Will trailed on her heels through the dark halls of the BSHCI. The cells were padded and white, and Will didn’t have much trouble imagining himself in one. He chose not to think about it just yet. That was something that could wait for Hannibal’s office.

Alana sat on a bench across from Gideon’s cell. Gideon, of course, recognized her and rambled about being happy to see her again. She took it in stride, but Will noticed the tenseness of her shoulders that betrayed her discomfort.

“I was caught red-handed,” Gideon said as he pressed up to the door of his cell. “I mean, literally. There’s no mystery whodunit. I did it.”

Will was hit with another wave of ire that anyone could mistake this man for the Chesapeake Ripper. “The mystery,” he said, “is whether you are who you say you are. Or not.”

Gideon regarded him critically for a moment. “Never liked being called the Chesapeake Ripper. Maybe something with a little more wit.”

Will wasn’t being paid enough for this.

Alana, ever the professional, powered onward. “Is that why you didn’t take credit for the Ripper murders until now?”

“Just watching the goose chase from the box seats,” Gideon said, as if the Ripper would delight in something so banal.

“Two years of goose chasing?” Will said in disbelief. “You must be a very patient man.”

“Are you just gonna run the psychopathic checklist here?” Gideon shot back. “I have had my personality inventoried by the Minnesota Multiphasic.”

Alana seemed unimpressed. “Would you prefer a Rorschach test?”

Gideon nodded to the folder sticking out of her bag. “Well, if you’re going to show me those pictures, maybe you should put a blood pressure cuff to my genitals. I find it gives a much truer gauge of reaction.”

Crude. Discourteous. Rude.

Will felt his anger rising higher and let out a breath. The Ripper didn’t receive sexual gratification from his kills. It wasn’t about that. He was punishing, humiliating, mocking. His victims were ugly for their untoward behavior, and the Ripper put an end to it. 

“What effect were you hoping to have,” Will said tightly, “by killing the night nurse?”

Gideon paced the length of the door. “The effect I was hoping to have was her death. Mission accomplished.”

Wrong. It was the wrong answer.

“Brutalization of the body was done posthumously,” Alana pointed out. 

Will couldn’t hold back the annoyance in his voice. “The Chesapeake Ripper does that sort of thing during, not after.”

Gideon waved a hand dismissively—rudely. “I do not have to convince you that I am the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Seems that’s what you need to do,” Alana said lightly. 

The pieces clicked together in Will’s head. “Certainly what somebody needs,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. 

Alana glanced at him curiously, but he wasn’t about to explain his thinking in front of Gideon.

Perhaps Chilton’s motivations for treating Gideon deserved more exploration.

#

Jack got a mysterious phone call in the night of Miriam Lass’ last voice message to him. The call wasn’t traceable and wasn’t recorded, but Jack was sure he’d gotten it. Will believed him. Freddie Lounds had done a piece speculating as to whether Gideon was the Ripper. The real Chesapeake Ripper, of course, would not let someone else take credit for his work. There was pride in it. And the world was going to pay for even considering a hack like Gideon had done his work.

Will couldn’t stop thinking about it as he sat at the desk in his classroom, reading his students’ papers. The words blurred from the eye strain of staring at them for three hours straight. He held his phone to his shoulder as he decorated the essays in red ink.

“You don’t think Gideon is the Ripper,” Hannibal said into his ear, voice low and smooth. “Why not? The times match up, don’t they?”

Will really didn’t need Hannibal questioning him on this, too. He was already one dubious look away from snapping.

“I know what happened with Jack,” Hannibal continued, as if sensing Will’s thoughts. “I was simply curious about your side of things.”

The words did their job in mollifying some of Will’s ire. He took a breath. “I...see the Ripper, but I don’t _feel_ the Ripper. It’s plagiarism.”

Hannibal took a moment to reply. “And what does the Ripper _feel_ like, Will?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds dirty,” Will grumbled.

The chuckle that came through the receiver warmed Will’s chest.

“Your glimpses into the minds of killers has intimacy,” Hannibal observed. “Does it not?”

“Not that kind.” Not always.

Something made a scratching sound in the background of Hannibal’s connection. Pencil on paper? “Will, you didn’t answer my question.”

Will took a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to put words to something entirely experiential. “He feels controlled, methodical...powerful. Every action has meaning. He paints pictures with his kills, the details all brushstrokes to make his art. In his mutilations, he turns the rude, the ugly, into something beautiful. His hand isn’t guided by compulsion like other psychopaths, if that’s even what he is. When he kills, it’s for his amusement. The displays he does show are meant to humiliate those hunting him because he finds it amusing, but he doesn’t have to do it. That’s what he did with Jack. He had no reason to humiliate Jack’s trainee.”

“But every reason to humiliate Jack,” Hannibal concluded. “Was he effective?”

Will’s chuckle was humorless. “Yeah, I’d say it worked really well.”

Hannibal hummed. “And you don’t think Gideon is capable of everything you just said?”

Will almost felt offended on the Ripper’s behalf. Almost. “Gideon is a crude imitation. He’s delusional, impulsive, and rude. What he did to that nurse was a replica of a Ripper kill, but that’s all it was. It had no passion, no artistry, no refinement. It… It was cheap.”

The line was quiet so long that Will might have thought Hannibal hung up, if not for the soft breathing in the receiver.

“You almost sound like you admire the Ripper,” Hannibal murmured.

Will’s brows lowered. “That’s not funny, Hannibal.”

“At the very least, Will, you seem impressed. A professional curiosity? Or an empathic one?”

“I don’t know. Both?” Will pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t admire him. It’s…”

When he didn’t continue, Hannibal said, “It’s what?”

“It’s…” Will took a breath before speaking. “It’s awe.”

Hannibal thankfully didn’t have an opportunity to respond before Jack and Alana stepped in.

“I have to go,” Will said quickly and then hung up.

“Are we interrupting something?” Alana asked with a polite smile.

He shook his head. “Not at all. What’s going on?”

Jack folded his arms over his chest. “An idea,” he said cryptically. “We have a direct way of communicating with the Chesapeake Ripper, and we’d like to see if we can push him.”

“Push him toward what?” Will asked with growing dread and anger.

“We might be able to influence him to become visible,” Alana explained. “If we can enrage him.”

This week was just full of bad ideas. 

Will sighed tiredly. “To what purpose, Jack? I don’t see what you’re proposing.”

Jack did that thing where he leaned forward, getting in Will’s space when he wasn’t welcome there. “Do you think there’s a way to push the Chesapeake Ripper and focus his attention?”

“Well, he’s already focused on Gideon as his adversary. Don’t fool around.” Will bit back a comment that playing with fire was less dangerous than playing with the Ripper.

“Gideon is just a tabloid rumor right now,” Jack pointed out. “We think we need to make him the truth.”

Will ran a hand down his face, longing desperately for bed. “You might push the Ripper to kill again just to prove he isn’t in a hospital for the criminally insane.”

The hard look in Jack’s eyes was familiar and infuriating. He wasn’t going to back down from this. “I have to push, Will.”

“Are you really thinking about getting into bed with Freddie Lounds?” Will asked in disbelief and anger at the sheer recklessness of this. 

“You yourself know it’s the best way to bait the real Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will turned his eyes to Alana. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “It’s a plan we know will work,” she said quietly. “We just need to nudge him.”

“You don’t nudge a wolf and expect it not to bite you.” Will shook his head. “If you do this, you will regret it. He will _make_ you regret it, and everyone he hurts in the process will be on your head.”

“So what do you suggest we do instead?” Jack retorted. “Sit around and wait for him to kill again in another two years?”

Will was done. He grabbed his papers and stuffed them in his bag.

“Where are you going?” Jack demanded.

“Well, Jack, you don’t seem particularly interested in listening to me, so I see no point in sticking around.” Will shoved his laptop in after his papers and stood. “I’m going home.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. “That article is going up tomorrow.”

“And I expect you’ll bring me to see the bodies that follow.” Will slung his bag over a shoulder.

Alana stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Will, we’ve never been so close to the Ripper before. We have to take this chance.”

He shrugged out of her grip. “No, you don’t.” 

And he charged past them without another word.

#

“You’re different today,” Jia said from one of the chairs in the middle of his office. She sat with her legs crossed under her and hands in her lap.

Hannibal sat stiffly across from her. Freddie Lounds had released an article yesterday that had sent rage burning through him. It was rare that he was so overcome with emotion, but that the FBI attributed Gideon to his art was an insult of the greatest magnitude. And that was the point, wasn’t it? They wanted to bait him, taunt him, into coming into the open. Well, they’d get what they wanted.

“How am I different?” he asked evenly, keeping any hint of his anger from his voice.

She tilted her head back and forth. “Distracted? Occupied? You’re thinking about something.”

He never failed to marvel at her observation abilities. “What gave me away?”

“Your speech pattern. You normally speak very fluidly, but there are delays in your responses and between words. Dad has the most obvious delays when he’s distracted. Yours are harder to notice.”

“But you still noticed it.” Hannibal clasped his hands over a thigh. “Your father is very perceptive as well. Do you intend to follow in his footsteps?”

She grinned. “I intend to surpass him, Dr. Lecter.”

What a terrifyingly wonderful idea. “Oh? Some people might worry your blindness limits you.”

“Some people? Not you?”

“I think I would be a fool to believe anything could keep you from your goals, my dear.” He stared at her a moment. “Your father has certain...advantages. I don’t doubt your capabilities, but I also want to make sure you set realistic goals for yourself.”

She hummed tersely. “Dad’s empathy disorder, you mean. It does give him an advantage. It also disadvantages him sometimes. Is that so different from my blindness?”

He considered the question a moment. “Perhaps you could tell me your advantages and disadvantages, paint me a clearer picture.”

“I’m not much good at painting, but I’ll do my best.” She chuckled at her own joke. “Well, I can’t see obviously. Navigating the world is difficult, and I rely on memory and touch to get around. That’s hard if I have to, say, avoid glass on the floor.”

He narrowed his eyes at the memory. They hadn’t discussed the incident since it happened last week, but he strongly suspected it wasn’t an accident. She, of course, would never admit it. That was just fine.

“And your advantages?” he prompted.

“I pay attention to the world. I listen. There’s no way to write notes down without my bulky braille typewriter, so I’ve learned to memorize everything. It’s necessary to keep track of my surroundings and my moves and others’ moves.” Her smile was fond, not gloating, as she added, “That’s why I like chess so much.”

He had to admit that her spatial abilities were impressive, even without sight. Her skill in chess was evidence enough of that. 

“You can tell a lot about a person based on how they play chess,” she said abruptly.

He arched a brow. “And what have you learned about me?”

She tapped her thigh. “You’re a funny man. You’re very good at strategy and planning, but your curiosity sometimes gets the best of you. It seems like you want to try something new just to see what happens, or maybe to see if you can pull it off—a challenge.”

Hannibal never thought he’d see the day a child psychoanalyzed him, but then Jia was no ordinary child. 

“Do you like to create problems to solve, Dr. Lecter?” she asked. “I think you have fun solving problems. I like solving problems. I get bored without them.”

Did she know how like her father she was? She must have. That acute sense for people’s motivations, coupled with an incomparable acumen for interpreting evidence, was a wonder of the world and perhaps a feature of the Grahams.

He had an odd thought. “Are you familiar with memory palaces, Jia?” When she shook her head, he continued, “It’s a technique used for the neat storage and retrieval of memories. Typically the construction of memory palaces involves visualizing locations, but I think we can adapt something for you, if you’re interested.”

Her brows rose. “I would be.”

“Good. Then why don’t we start with the basic structure? I want you to think of a location you know very well.”

She was quiet, but the tension in her face indicated she was thinking about it.

He continued after a couple seconds. “Once you have the location, think of how it feels. How does it smell? What does it sound like? Gather as many details as you can about it. It needs to feel real to you.”

She took a deep breath. Her unseeing eyes flickered back and forth while she thought. It was some time before she said, “I think I have it.”

“And what location did you choose?” he asked, expecting her bedroom or house.

“My hospital room, the one I stayed in after Dad found me.”

An interesting choice. Hannibal could imagine her wandering the tiny space with searching fingertips and careful feet.

“The next part involves attaching information or memories to places in the room,” he explained. “Your journey through the room will stop at these places, and you’ll go through them in the same order every time. The information should fall under the same category for each room you have, to keep everything organized.”

She nodded, and he guided her through the placement of each information node, letting her set the order. He had her go through the sequence repeatedly. She needed less and less time at each place in the room as they went through it. The entire process took up their whole hour together, but Hannibal knew that she would do truly incredible things if and when she mastered this. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was sharpening a knife that would be used against him or for him.

She seemed tired by the end of it, and he let her curl up on his couch while he did paperwork at his desk. At Hannibal’s insistence, Will didn’t pay for the thirty or so minutes post-therapy where he couldn’t pick up Jia while finishing his class. It was another level of breaking formality that engrained Hannibal deeper into the Grahams’ lives, and besides, he didn’t want to be paid to spend time with Jia. Her presence was reward enough.

Will knocked twenty minutes after their session’s official end time. Hannibal let him in with a finger pressed to his lips. Jia had fallen asleep on the couch, knees curled up to her chest. The look of pure adoration in Will’s eyes when he gazed at her was a thing of beauty. 

“Everything go all right?” he whispered.

Hannibal nodded. “As always. I know I’ve said it many times before, but your daughter is absolutely remarkable. Her intelligence rivals her father’s.”

Will’s smile was warm. “Flatterer.”

“I merely speak the truth.” Hannibal glanced at the folders peeking out from Will’s bag. “The hunt for the Ripper coming along?”

“Relentlessly.” Will sighed. “Jack got Freddie Lounds to post some bullshit article about Gideon being the Ripper. It’s like he wants people to die.”

Hannibal was pleased that Will hadn’t agreed with the article’s creation. It was for the wrong reasons, of course, but Will wouldn’t have been opposed to it if he didn’t understand the Ripper’s ability. That was enough for now.

“I can’t imagine the Ripper would take kindly to someone else taking credit for his work,” Hannibal said. “You’ll keep me updated, won’t you?”

“I’m sure you’ll be getting a phone call from me soon. The Ripper isn’t going to just sit on this.” Will went for his daughter, keeping his footfalls quiet, and gathered her into his arms. 

She visibly relaxed into him, an involuntary response to his presence. Humans recognized where they were safe, even in sleep. Will held her close as he returned to the door. Hannibal smoothed her hair back and watched Will track the movement. Their eyes met. The heat that filled Hannibal was better than any spice, and he knew that he could lean in and take what he wanted without protest. 

But he didn’t. Will needed to come to him.

“Drive safe, Will,” he murmured instead. “I’m sure we’ll speak soon.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the song "Psychopaths" by Ayelle:
> 
> https://youtu.be/Qr6I1DYQB28
> 
> Maybe psychopaths are happier  
> 'Cause they don't love like us  
> 'Cause they don't love like us  
> They never hurt like us

Hannibal wasn’t interested in punishing all of the FBI. His present was just for Jack Crawford. Miriam Lass had been his responsibility, his sacrificial lamb sent to slaughter. Hannibal wanted him to feel the mistake, the guilt, the shame. He wanted Jack to remember this error for as long as he lived.

Putting her hair in Jack’s bedroom and sending her final message to him repeatedly did the job in getting his hopes up that his beloved trainee was still out there. Hannibal had left Miriam’s arm in the observatory as the final blow. Her detached limb struck down Jack’s hope, crushed it viciously and bitterly. He was left grieving and defeated. When he showed up at Hannibal’s office to mourn, it’d been nothing short of divine to watch the gruff FBI agent unfurl at his seams. Hannibal made sure to memorize the shapes of Jack’s expression to sketch later. It tasted just as good as any meat he’d cut from a kill.

Will called as the man himself predicted, but not immediately after. It was a couple days before Hannibal’s phone rang. The delay, he assumed, was due to the work that came after such incidents, not to mention Jack’s inevitable emotional distress that he’d doubtlessly take out on anyone nearby.

“Hi,” Will greeted simply.

Hannibal held the phone to his ear with a shoulder while he chopped carrots. “Hello, Will.”

The line was quiet.

“Will?” Hannibal prompted. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Another pause. “No, actually. I’m not all right.”

Hannibal set his knife down and held the phone with a hand, instead of his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“What isn’t?” Will’s sigh crackled through the receiver. “I told Jack what would happen. I told him, and he still… The Ripper is back in the wind. We’re no closer to catching him, and Jack has Miriam Lass’ fucking arm.”

Hannibal leaned his hip against the counter. “Jack has an unrivaled ability to ignore everything that doesn’t serve his agenda. That’s no fault of yours.” When silence met him, he said, “Or is that not what you’re concerned with?”

Silence.

Real concern bloomed behind Hannibal’s sternum, cold and sour. “Will?”

“I keep thinking that he deserves this.”

The words were so soft that Hannibal almost missed them. His grip tightened on the phone. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Like a bad friend and a bad person.” Will took a breath and let it out slowly. “Like I should have more compassion for what Jack is going through, but instead I’m...vindictive.”

“That’s a natural response. You told Jack what would happen, and he did it anyway.”

“The Ripper left him an arm, Hannibal. I think I should feel a shred of compassion.” Will’s tone was hard and cold.

Hannibal took a moment to consider his reply. “You know the Ripper better than anyone, Will. If Jack had come to you today and said he wanted a trainee to go after the Ripper, what would you tell him?”

Will’s answer was soft. “I’d tell him he was sending her to her death.”

“Perhaps Uncle Jack should consider the lives he plays with before he gets upset that they were hurt. I don’t think that’s such a revolutionary concept.” Hannibal waited for the reply, knowing it would be slow to come like all the others.

A few seconds later, Will said, “What are you doing right now?”

Hannibal smiled. “Making dinner.”

“Can I come over?”

“Are we asking beforehand now? I thought you just showed up whenever you liked.”

“Ah… Sorry, I—”

“That wasn’t a complaint, Will.” Hannibal almost laughed when Will made a choked sound. “You and your daughter are always welcome in my home.”

Will let out a breath. “Actually, Jia is at a sleepover, so I… It would just be me.”

Hannibal’s brows rose. “Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Hannibal debated whether or not to push his luck, but what was life without some pushing? “I like that salmon-colored shirt of yours.”

“Oh… Uh… Thank you.”

“The food should be ready by the time you get here. I’ll see you soon, Will.”

“Right. See you soon.”

Hannibal set his phone on the counter. He resumed cutting carrots with an unseemly persistent smile.

#

Will couldn’t bring himself to wear the salmon-colored shirt. In fact, he wasn’t sure he could wear that shirt ever again. It was lying on his bed at home, taunting him.

He was overthinking this.

It didn’t matter anyway. Any coherent thought left his brain as soon as Hannibal opened his front door in a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair wasn’t pushed back neatly as usual. Gray strands hung just above his eyes. A black towel was slung over one shoulder.

“Good evening, Will,” he greeted with a smile.

Will swallowed. “Good evening.”

Hannibal stepped aside to let him in. “You’re right on time.” He closed the door and then his hands were at Will’s shoulders.

“It smells good,” Will commented as he shrugged out of his coat.

Hannibal took it and hung it in the hall closet. “I hope you like pork.”

Will looked at the wall over Hannibal’s shoulder. “I think I’d like anything you made.”

“Glowing praise for a chef.” Hannibal gestured down the hall. “Please have a seat in the dining room. I’ll bring in our food.”

Will did as instructed. There were already two place settings at Hannibal’s large dining table, and Will picked one at random. He stared at the light drizzle falling past the glass doors along the back wall. The scent of garlic and spices mixed with the fainter petrichor. Jia would smell it on him later and ask him where he’d been. He was never much good at hiding things from her.

Not that he needed to hide that he’d been here.

Hannibal came out with a clay pot steaming with pork loin and veggies. He carved pieces off and served them with some explanation about it. Will only heard fragments of it while he tried not to focus on the warmth of Hannibal’s body beside him. 

It'd been a very, very long time since he'd let himself feel any kind of attraction. His skin virtually hummed with it, uncomfortable and raw. Relief came only when Hannibal disappeared again. Will counted his breaths and tried to think rationally. 

He didn't know Hannibal entirely. There was still something there, tucked out of sight. But Will would see it eventually. He always did. That was what always killed his relationships, knowing too much, seeing too much. And what if he rejected it? Jia was already attached to Hannibal. Will couldn't involve them more without considering what it'd do to her if he had to cut Hannibal out. 

If he could cut him out. 

Hannibal returned with a bottle of wine and filled the glasses in front of their plates.

“Your health seems to be improving,” he observed as he sat across the table. “I trust Jia has been diligent in ensuring you take your antibiotics.”

Will huffed his chuckle. “It’s the first thing she says to me in the morning and the last thing at night.”

Hannibal smiled. “I’m glad you have her around.”

“As am I.” Will hesitantly cut a strip of the pork loin. He knew it would be good before he took a bite, but it still surprised him with how delicious it was. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Hannibal’s smile widened. “A great many things, but I’ll take the compliment for what it is.”

“A surgeon’s hands must translate well to the kitchen.” 

“They translate well for several endeavors.”

Will chose not to think about what those endeavors might be and took another bite. “Rosemary,” he murmured after swallowing.

Hannibal didn’t respond to the comment, just tidily cut his meat into pieces. They were quiet for a while. It was easy to simply enjoy the food, comfortable in wordless appreciation. But Will hadn’t come here for easy.

“How’ve Jia’s sessions gone?” Will asked levelly, trying not to sound like every overbearing PTA mom who obsessed over her kid.

“She’s started psychoanalyzing me.” Hannibal sounded amused by the concept. “She’s almost as good as you.”

Will cocked a brow. “Oh? Can I ask what she observed?”

Hannibal chewed a bite of pork while he considered the question. “I can’t tell you what she said. I can tell you, on an unrelated note, that I may like to challenge myself too much.”

Jia had probably noticed that Hannibal liked to try riskier chess strategies for the express purpose of seeing if he could pull them off. Will knew it indicated Hannibal liked to create problems that then needed to be solved, something to provide a challenge—more entertainment. The only reason Hannibal couldn’t beat Jia with his strategies was because she had recognized his patterns and accounted for them in how she played. Like Will, she designed strategies based on knowing all the variables, which was limited to the variables she knew. But she was pretty good at getting the ones that mattered.

“I have to wonder if you’ve ever won a game of chess with your daughter,” Hannibal said. “You must have taught her yourself.”

Will sipped the wine. It was spicier than ones he was used to, and he enjoyed it with the subtler flavors of the pork. “Jia has actually only beat me twice.”

Hannibal’s brows shot up. “And here I thought she was the grandmaster.”

“It’s not a fair match,” Will explained quickly. “I can always tell what strategies she’s going to use. I know how she thinks.”

“And the two times you didn’t?”

“First time I had a migraine. The second time I hadn’t slept in forty-six hours.” Will peered at Hannibal over the rim of his wine glass. “You’d probably do better against me than Jia. I still wonder at how you think, and I don’t have Jia’s knowledge of chess strategy to help me.”

Hannibal sipped his own wine. “Should I be concerned about a father-daughter team unlocking my secrets?”

Will chuckled. “Do you have many secrets, Dr. Lecter?”

“Enough.” Hannibal took a bite of his pork.

“Well, I don’t think you have to worry much about Jia. She’s smart, but she doesn’t have a lot of experience.”

“The experience you have.” Hannibal sipped his wine with a wry smile. “Should I worry about you then?”

Will speared a carrot with his fork and took his time eating it. “Depends on the secret.”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Hannibal kept hidden beneath his finely sculpted veneer, and that it’d held this long indicated that Hannibal was certain Will wouldn’t like what lurked beyond. Maybe he was right.

Conversation flowed through dinner. Will tried to move away from talking about his daughter, figuring that he already talked about her too much. They inevitably strayed into cases, but that was surprisingly easy to talk about. Hannibal seemed fascinated to know the minds’ of all the killers Will had occupied. Normally, that would have brought back all kinds of unpleasant guilt and shame, but Hannibal just listened and asked questions, no judgement or revulsion. That was such a unique thing that Will was almost discomfited by it.

They eventually finished eating. Will insisted on helping to clean up like Hannibal had done for him just a couple weeks ago. It was quick since there were just their plates and glasses to wash, so Will insisted on washing the cooking equipment as well. That got him another ten minutes. And then he ran out of excuses to stay longer.

Hannibal walked him to the door, of course—always the gentleman. “We must do this again,” he said. “I do adore your daughter, but we can’t speak freely in front of her.”

“Maybe something more deliberate than an impromptu visit,” Will agreed.

“I do appreciate those as well.” 

Hannibal started to open the door, but Will pushed it closed. It was impulsive. He didn’t even realize what he’d done until Hannibal was staring down at him curiously. They held each other’s eyes. The air seemed to thicken around them until Will felt like he was too full of it.

“Something wrong, Will?” Hannibal asked, voice barely above a whisper—as if he feared speaking any louder would spook Will. Maybe it would have. 

This shouldn’t have been so hard. He knew what he wanted, and Hannibal had shown repeatedly that he could be everything to him and Jia. They weren’t officially patient and psychiatrist. This should have been as easy as breathing. And it was, in a way. It was easy to share space and long for more. It was easy to imagine the relief in not having to long anymore. 

Will stood on his toes until their faces were mere inches apart and the breath between them mingled together. His hand came up to Hannibal’s jaw. The hands pressing into his back bunched his shirt in fists, and a rush of heat went through Will at the obvious want. That could get addicting. Drawing reactions out of the usually stoic Hannibal Lecter made Will feel...powerful.

"Good night, Dr. Lecter," he whispered and stepped back. 

The hunger grew in Hannibal's eyes, darkening his face. 

Definitely addicting. 

Will moved for the door. Hannibal let him slip from his hold, but the tension in his arms indicated he was reluctant to do so. 

"Good night, Will," he murmured. 

Will stepped out and shut the door behind him. 

#

“You seem off today,” Bedelia commented.

Hannibal sat across from her in her sitting room, legs crossed and hands clasped together. “I had an unusual evening—well, an unusual week.”

She leaned forward with an elbow on her thigh. “Oh? What happened?”

“I had a friend for dinner, whom I thought would be more...reticent. I miscalculated.” Hannibal could still feel the warmth of Will’s breath on his lips. Close, but not close enough. Brazen flirtation. It was obviously meant to be tempting, to dare him into action. Maybe it would. Hannibal hadn’t anticipated that the tables would be turned, and he’d be the one left overwhelmed with thoughts of desire.

Will was a better chess player than he let on.

“Reticent?” Bedelia arched a perfect brow. “Reticent about what?”

Hannibal considered his words carefully, knowing that he couldn’t reveal the object of his interest to Bedelia just yet. She’d have too much to say about it, and Hannibal knew how it looked to have intimate relations with a patient, even if Will wasn’t officially so.

“Flirtation,” Hannibal offered bluntly. “They were...quite forward. It caught me off guard.”

Bedelia’s eyes narrowed. “And were their advances welcome?”

He looked to the window past her. “They were, but they didn’t quite cross the damning line, as it were. I don’t know if it was from fear or...something else.”

“Leading you on?” she suggested.

“I don’t think it’s that either.” He brought his eyes to hers. “I think they’re playing games, even when they hate games.”

She leaned back in her chair and stared at him a moment. “You like your games, Hannibal. Perhaps they’re just playing along.”

An interesting idea. Will was skilled in recognizing motivations and desires, and he might have felt compelled to subvert Hannibal’s expectations for the thrill of it. But that didn’t seem quite right. Will had had fear in his eyes. Whatever this was between them scared him, probably for its novelty and the possible impacts on Jia.

And Jia was a complication.

She almost certainly knew what Hannibal was, and still she kept his secret, perhaps out of gratitude. But what might compel her to tell her father the truth? Hannibal couldn’t account for all the variables there. He felt confident that Jia would remain quiet, but she was more cunning than most adults. That would only grow with time. It was only a matter of time.

“They’re afraid,” Hannibal said after a moment’s hesitation, “and I think they have good reason. Our relationship is complicated. Their life is complicated. Fostering romance in our circumstances would be...challenging.”

Bedelia’s eyes were sharp as they passed over him. “I’ve never known you to be one to back down from a challenge. Is this any different?”

“I suppose not. I remain optimistic.” Hannibal uncrossed his legs and rested his hands on his chair’s armrests. “I think they mean to test me. The more I think about it, the more certain I am.”

“And what makes you think that?”

His thoughts came together like pieces of a puzzle, fitting together neatly into a clear image. “They want to be sure I’m...worthy. They want to see beyond the ‘person-suit,’ as you put it, and they won’t let me closer until I do.”

That seemed to catch Bedelia’s attention. “Someone who isn’t sure if you’re worthy of them? How does that make you feel?”

“Uncertain. There is a chance they could reject me, after all.”

In fact, Hannibal was sure Will would despise him, if the truth came out now. It was too soon. He had to tread carefully from here on, but there was a need to keep pushing. Will would never become his unfettered self without the call to it. Maybe it was time to take more drastic action. That was what Will wanted, wasn’t it? A reaction.

“What are you thinking?” Bedelia asked, her eyes cold now.

Hannibal offered a small smile. “I think I can close the space between us a little more.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that will stick closely to the show. Everything from here on will be more divergent.

Jack called an impromptu meeting half an hour before Will’s first class. They stood in his office, Will leaning against a chair and Jack by his desk. Hannibal and Alana came in seconds after. They both seemed as curious as Will to see what the meeting was about. Hannibal glanced at Will as he closed the office door after himself, but it was just the barest flick of his eyes.

They hadn’t spoken about their dinner together since it’d happened last week. That was just as well. Will didn’t regret what he’d done, and the distance he was putting between himself and Hannibal was helping to clear some of the haze that’d taken residence in his head. That was probably best for Hannibal, more than Will. The darker side of Will’s desires had come out. He was usually better at tempering them than this, but something about Hannibal made his restraint slip. 

It was rude, this game he’d started. Will knew that. Still, some part of him wanted to ruffle Hannibal’s well-groomed feathers and rip the seams of that refined veil. Maybe that was sadistic at heart. He delighted in the thought that he could dismantle such a picture of control, that he could make Hannibal as flustered as the man did him.

And there was a more rational part of his brain that wanted to see whatever stayed hidden behind Hannibal’s walls. He knew he could get to it if he just pushed the right way, found the right point of weakness.

He was almost certain he wouldn’t like what he found.

“What’s this about, Jack?” Alana asked as she and Hannibal stood together by Will.

Jack slapped a folder on his desk and said, “Nicholas Boyle turned up in Minnesota—dead.”

The room went still at that. Will was thoroughly unsurprised. It’d only been a matter of time to now.

“His body was found in the woods,” Jack continued. “He was frozen. They thawed him out fairly quickly, but they said they can’t tell if he died a week ago, six weeks ago, or the night he disappeared.”

Will did the mental math. The copycat killer wouldn’t have wanted Nicholas Boyle to meddle for long. If the boy hadn’t died the night he disappeared, it’d been damn near it.

“How did he die?” Alana asked, sounding tired already.

“Knife wound,” Jack answered grimly. “He was gutted. I’ve had the body flown down here. I want Abigail Hobbs to identify it for us.”

Hannibal tensed at the mention of Abigail, perhaps a protective instinct. “You already have a positive ID,” he said.

“Not from Abigail Hobbs.”

Alana glared at Jack. “You can’t put her in a room with Nick Boyle’s body.” Her anger added a sharp edge to her voice. “She already has nightmares about him, Jack.”

Jack didn’t seem fazed. “I’m curious about why.”

Will’s own anger crept up his throat, and he nearly hissed, “You can’t think she has something to do with this.”

Jack didn’t so much as blink. “I think Abigail Hobbs is the common denominator between her father, Marissa Schurr, and Nicholas Boyle. They all go back to Abigail.” When Will just sighed and rubbed his face tiredly, Jack added, “My instincts tell me that Abigail has answers that we have not heard.”

“What are the questions, Jack?” Will snapped, the shreds of his patience disappearing. 

“Let’s start with where she goes when she climbs the walls of the psychiatric facility. Maybe she was meeting Nicholas Boyle. None of us know what was really going on between them.”

Will pointedly didn’t look at Hannibal. He’d been aware for some time that Abigail snuck out to Hannibal’s office regularly. Hannibal left the mezzanine window open in the evenings, even as winter approached, and the scent of Abigail’s lavender shampoo lingered on the furniture the next day.

“I want to go on record,” Alana nearly growled, “as saying that this is a very bad idea. Hannibal?”

Hannibal seemed unperturbed, save for the sharpness of his gaze. “Jack has the look of a man with no interest in any opinion but his own.” He spoke evenly, but the words were cutting.

The muscles in Jack’s neck were taut, but he only turned his gaze to Alana. “I want you to observe on this.”

“If you’re putting Abigail in a room with a body,” Will said, “I want to be there.”

“I’m sorry, Will.” Jack didn’t sound sorry. “I am not very confident with your ability to be objective about Abigail Hobbs right now. She’s not your daughter. You can’t adopt this one.”

Will’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Jack strode past him. Alana followed after at Jack’s order, looking incredibly bitter and angry about it.

Hannibal stepped toward Jack’s desk, peering at the papers on it. Will flexed his hands at his sides and forced himself to breathe. His rage felt like a snake in his gut, coiling tighter and tighter. He was willing to forgive a lot, but Jack had crossed a line with that last comment.

“He could do Abigail irreparable damage, exposing her to this,” Will growled, unable to stand the silence. 

Hannibal didn’t turn his eyes from the desk. “Perhaps she’s stronger than we think.”

There was confidence in the words, softly spoken though they were. Will looked Hannibal over curiously.

“And what are you basing that on?” he asked.

Hannibal turned his head, as if to look back at Will, but their eyes didn’t meet. “Your daughter has incomparable resilience. She was six when her father was murdered in front of her, and she’s quite stable now. I might even argue that she’s stronger for it.”

Will’s jaw clenched. “She shouldn’t have to be. She’s a child.”

“Regardless of what should have been, Will, she has endured great trauma. Abigail is no different in that regard. The best we can do is pick her up when she falls, as you did for Jia.” Hannibal opened a folder. It had the photos of Nicholas Boyle’s dead body in frozen earth.

Will stared at his shoes. “It took a full year before she let me hug her. She used to flinch at the slightest touch.” His anger at the memory flared up his spine. “I stayed up with her night after night, listening to her beg for her father not to hurt her. She deserved better. Abigail deserves better.”

Hannibal closed the folder and turned to face Will squarely. “You push Jia to be independent in all regards where other parents would prefer to coddle, especially with her blindness. You believe in her. We can do the same for Abigail.”

Will let out a long breath. The anger at Jack didn’t lessen, but his worry for Abigail did. “Are you always so calm?”

“Mostly.” Hannibal headed for the door, but paused by Will just to whisper, “Except with you.”

Will’s face flushed hotly, but he didn’t get a chance to respond before Hannibal was at the door.

#

Hannibal had no choice but to see Abigail in the afternoon between appointments. He needed to account for the variables in this chess game.

They stood in her room at the hospital. He watched the hail falling outside her window and imagined how it’d sting on his skin. It’d started snowing and hailing alternatingly, and the cold crept through the walls.

“It can be a comfort to see the broken, bloated corpse of a monster,” Hannibal murmured, “and know it can never come back.”

The muscles of Abigail’s jaw and neck drew taut, but not with fear. She felt justified. “Nick Boyle wasn’t a monster.”

“Were you?” Hannibal turned from the window. He imagined extending the scar on her neck to the other side.

“I sometimes feel like one,” she admitted with a shaky breath.

“Is that why you uncovered his body?” When she averted her gaze, he started pacing the length of the room. “Would this be a chapter in your book, Abigail?”

She swallowed. “No. Neither would killing Nick or you helping me hide the body.”

Young. Immature. Naive. She didn’t know what she did, the risks she was taking with their lives.

“There’s always an addendum,” he warned.

She met his eyes then, and the defensiveness in them verged on righteousness. It didn’t suit her. “The FBI already asked their questions. I answered them. I passed.”

“With Jack Crawford’s attention.”

“You’re right. I opened the door. I can’t control what comes through ir.” She stood straight, determined and emboldened. “But this time, I could control when. I’m not afraid of them finding Nicholas Boyle anymore. He’s been found.”

So it was a sense of control and power she was after. Maybe she’d get it. Maybe he’d snatch it away.

“I survived the monsters once,” she murmured. “I can survive them again.”

Hannibal stared at the faded still life hanging on the wall, considering his next steps. “You betrayed my trust. You jeopardized my life as well as your own. I deserve more than that.”

Her face fell, as if it’d just dawned on her that her choice didn’t only impact her. He came closer, looming over her.

“I need to trust you, Abigail,” he said evenly. “What if I can’t?”

She folded her arms over her chest, but the posture failed to be firm, instead seeming more like she was holding herself. “Are you going to dispose of me? Bury me somewhere like Nick?”

A tempting idea, but she hadn’t quite extended past her use yet. 

“Tread carefully,” he cautioned. “Sometimes you don’t know you’re on thin ice until you’re already submerged.”

He didn’t give her a chance to reply, just headed for the door.

His next appointment was with Jia. Maybe it was paranoia from Abigail’s recklessness, but he was wary of the ten-year-old. She knew more about him than anyone, by virtue of the fact that she knew he was the Chesapeake Ripper. Her testimony could have weight, as well. Will certainly would do everything in his power to back her up. Hannibal should kill her. He could imagine standing her on an entirely black chessboard, a queen standing tall in protection of her king.

But Will would be devastated. An inconvenient knot of hesitance settled in Hannibal’s gut. Was he really going to risk his life to make Will happy? Jia could ruin him with a couple words, and he’d be a fool not to at least take some preventative measures. She’d kept his secret so far. That could end at a whim.

But Will would be devastated.

Hannibal pulled up to his office a few minutes before four-thirty. Will and Jia were already waiting on the steps. They were talking about an upcoming band performance and Jia’s future rehearsals. Hannibal only caught the tail end of it before Jia turned her head toward him.

“Hi, Dr. Lecter,” she greeted.

Will looked up from her to Hannibal. He offered a small smile that softened his eyes.

“Hello, Ms. Jia,” Hannibal returned. “Will.”

Jia took a deep breath. “You smell like lavender and bleach. You went to see Abigail.”

He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t kill this girl, not only because it would hurt Will, but because he was entirely too fascinated with what she’d become. That still left him with the arduous task of finding a way to ensure her secrecy.

“Perceptive as ever,” he commented. “You’ll surpass your father soon enough.”

She beamed at that, and an odd warmth bloomed in his chest. He took a moment to appreciate the sweetness of it. Pride perhaps.

“You went to see Abigail?” Will asked, curiosity plain in his face.

“Checking up on her,” Hannibal lied easily. “She took the morning’s encounter with Nicholas Boyle in stride thankfully.”

Will’s eyes were sharp and assessing. “That’s good to hear.” He bent to kiss his daughter’s forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit. Be good.”

“Yes, Dad,” she said automatically.

Will straightened and rested a hand where Hannibal’s shoulder met chest. “Take care of her,” he murmured. “Please.”

That one word, said so sweetly, burned down Hannibal’s spine.

“She’s in good hands,” he reassured.

Will glanced at the hands in questions and smiled. He didn’t make further comment, just headed for his car. Hannibal bit his lip at the sharp want that hit his gut. He wasn’t sure how this game would end, but playing it was delectable.

“How are you today, Ms. Jia?” he asked as he offered his elbow to her.

She enclosed her hand around his arm. “Pretty good. You?” 

“Improving with your presence.” He led them into his office.

She sat in the same seat Will usually did and crossed her legs under her. Hannibal sat across from her and laced his fingers together in his lap.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he said carefully. “The killer who murdered your father—”

“I know who he is,” she admitted bluntly.

His brows rose. “Do you now?”

She tapped a finger on her thigh. “I owe him my life, Dr. Lecter. I won’t be the one who tells my dad who he is.”

“You don’t feel badly for hiding something so important from your father?” Hannibal had trouble believing she wouldn’t have some doubts. She and Will were inseparable, deeply bonded by something that transcended blood.

“I won’t tell my dad who he is.” She tapped her finger on her thigh some more, and then a smile spread her lips. “You’re a funny man, Dr. Lecter. Do you record all your sessions?”

“I do.”

“Ah, that explains it.” She leaned back in her chair. “I suppose I should be careful what I say then.”

He wanted to see this little girl blossom into the vicious creature of wit and eloquence she would surely become. One day, she’d be able to flay a person with a couple words and do so as a picture of grace. Beautiful devastation.

“Well, Jia,” he started with a broad smile. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off?”

#

Will stared at Nicholas Boyle’s body. It was pale and still, laying on a metal table in the BAU morgue. The gut had decomposed quite a bit already, as was common. Identifying cause of death had been a little tricky, but the cut through the abdominal aorta was telling. Quick. Efficient. It limited suffering by ensuring Boyle had bled out swiftly. 

Garrett Jacob Hobbs would be so proud.

Will had given his class over to Alana because he had to know the truth. He had to _see_ it. Jack wanted him to see it, too. But this wasn’t for Jack, not this time.

Boyle sat up and climbed off the table. He had rage in his eyes as he came closer. Fear, cold and familiar, compelled Will to sink the hunting knife in where he knew it would stop everything.

_I want it to stop. I’m going to make it stop._

Boyle gasped and held Will’s wrist tightly. Flesh gave easily as Will brought the knife down a little. The blood needed to drain out. That was the only way to stop Boyle from suffering for longer. His face was already scrunched with pain and shock.

Will blinked, and then Abigail stood where Boyle had. She sunk the knife just below his sternum. Her breaths came harshly with the force of her fear at what she was doing and what she thought he knew. 

_I want it to stop. I’m going to make it stop._

He gasped in a breath and held his face in his hands a long moment. Nicholas Boyle’s body was back on the table, dead and unmoving. He'd been killed, his body disposed of, and the truth hidden away. 

Will wasn't sure if he wanted to vomit or cry or scream. Maybe all of them. He instead settled on leaving the morgue and heading straight for the parking lot. 

His car felt too confining around him as he drove to Hannibal's office. Jia's session still had another twenty minutes left, so he sat there, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Boyle's death played over and over before his eyes, confirming in every little detail what he wanted to be blind to. But he'd seen it. 

He'd seen it.

He'd seen it. 

He'd seen it. 

He realized belatedly that he was echoing the phrase aloud and clamped his lips shut. Verbal echoes weren't something he'd done in years, but now the words were all he could think about. Because he's known, in some deep part of him. He'd seen it in Abigail the same way he'd seen it in his own daughter. 

Twenty minutes simultaneously felt like too long and no time at all. His legs were numb under him while he got out of the car and made his way into Hannibal's office. 

Jia was still sitting on one of the center chairs across from Hannibal. She hopped down and headed for him carefully. He met her halfway.

"Jia, I need to speak with Dr. Lecter," he said as calmly as he could. "You mind waiting in the lobby for a little bit?"

"No problem," she agreed immediately. Her brows were furrowed with concern. She definitely knew something was wrong, but hopefully she wouldn't ask why.

He made sure she was seated on a chair in the lobby before during himself in the office with Hannibal.

"Abigail killed Nick Boyle," he said, the words sour on his tongue. 

Hannibal stared at him a long moment. "Yes, I know."

That was exactly the wrong answer and exactly the expected one.

"Tell me why you know," Will demanded as he drew closer, getting in Hannibal's space. 

"I helped her dispose of the body." Hannibal said it so evenly that Will got cognitive dissonance from the disparity between the words’ significance and expected emotional inflection.

Will sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Evidently not well enough."

Hannibal's face was inscrutable as he asked, "Have you told Jack Crawford?"

"No."

"Why not?"

_I want it to stop. I'm going to make it stop._

"I was hoping it wasn't true," Will mumbled and tried to push the feel of Boyle's flesh yielding to metal from his brain.

Hannibal stood, so they were level. "Now you know the truth."

"Do I?" Will's tone was harsher than he liked. 

Hannibal's gaze was steady. "Everything you know about that night is true, except the end. Nicholas Boyle attacked us. Abigail's only crime was to defend herself. And I lied about it."

Will couldn't believe he was hearing this, but he was still waiting for surprise that didn't come. "Why?"

"You know why. Jack Crawford would hang her for what her father’s done. The world would burn Abigail in his place. That would be the story. That would be what Freddie Lounds writes." When Will didn't respond, Hannibal added softly, "Abigail is no more a killer than you are for shooting her father or I am for the death of Tobias Budge...or Jia for planning to stop her father."

Will let the words sink in, tried not to agree with them. He ended up pacing the width of the room. Hannibal gave him space, retreating to the desk. 

"It's not our place to decide," Will said finally, his thoughts coming apart like shards of glass.

Hannibal maintained his composure perfectly, everything that mattered of him tucked away and out of sight. That sat worse with Will than anything that’d been uncovered so far. What was this? Betrayal? Hurt? Sorrow? 

"If not ours, then whose?” Hannibal asked. “Who knows Abigail better than you and I? Or the burden she bears? We are her fathers now. We have to serve her better than Garret Jacob Hobbs."

Will froze in place, a million feelings and thoughts flooding him in a second. ‘We’ shouldn’t have felt so good on his ears, given the circumstances. He should be furious. And he was. His anger nearly choked him in its intensity, but ‘we’... There was so much in the one word—too much.

"If you go to Jack," Hannibal continued, "then you murder Abigail’s future. If she is ever to have the life she deserves, then we have to tell no one."

Will ran a hand down his face and tried to steady his breathing. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Dark secrets. What else was Hannibal hiding?

"Wouldn't you do the same for Jia?" Hannibal prompted softly.

It wasn't fair, and it was at the same time. Jia had been set on killing her father, and she would have tried in earnest. He couldn’t fault her that, not while he would have done so much more than hide a body for her, not while he would have killed to protect her.

Will felt himself nod. 

"Do I need to call my lawyer, Will?" Hannibal’s voice was low, almost sad.

Will forced himself to look up. His neck felt stiff as he shook his head. That seemed to prompt Hannibal to cross the distance between them.

"What we’re doing here is the right thing, Will," he said. "For Abigail."

When he lifted a hand, Will flinched back. Hurt flickered across Hannibal's face, but it was quickly hidden again.

"You lied to me," Will rasped. “You lied.”

Hannibal lowered his hand slowly. "I did."

Will squeezed his eyes shut when seeing seemed like too much. He didn't want to see. He wanted to be blind to it all. He wanted to forget. 

"Would you have trusted me, listened to me, back then?" Hannibal murmured. "You disliked me. I didn't think I could trust you. I'm sorry I kept up the lie this long, but what was I supposed to do?"

They were fair words, and Will wanted to sink into them, let himself get swept away to a gentler reality.

When Hannibal lifted a hand this time, Will let it rest on his shoulder. The heat and weight of it was grounding, something to hold onto. He hated how easy it was to be comforted by something so simple. That was too much power over him, and Hannibal would almost certainly exploit it.

"No more lies, Hannibal," Will heard himself say. "Not to me."

Hannibal let his hand fall away.


	15. Chapter 15

Jia was on the phone with Abigail. Apparently, they’d exchanged contact info a while ago and had been texting back and forth. But they were on the phone now and chatting like friends. Will wondered at how well a ten-year-old could hold a conversation. Jia was mature, but she still wasn’t an adept conversationalist. Her communications tended to be short. The only exception was in the discussion of books, as she could spend a long time talking about characters and narrative structure. So Will shouldn’t have been surprised by the topic on the phone.

“Well, the main character in _Grave Mercy_ isn’t a jerk,” Jia was saying. “She’s still really soft and kind while being a spy and assassin, and while she does hate her job sometimes, she does what she has to.”

Will knew he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but it wasn’t like Jia was trying to hide her voice. It drifted out of the living room while he sat at his dining table and tried to get through the final papers before winter break.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Jia said after a lengthy pause. “No, yeah. It’s young adult, not like the other book. I don’t usually read middle grade. That was just a good one. Dad enjoyed it.”

Another long pause, and then giggles.

“Dad’s actually a big softie. He can be really awkward sometimes, but he’s very sweet.”

A shorter pause.

“I think he’s just grading papers right now. Do you want to talk to him?”

Jia’s footfalls approached seconds later, and she rounded the table to hand him her phone. His brows pressed together as he took it.

“Abigail wants to talk to you,” Jia explained. “I think she’s having a hard time.”

Will held it up to his ear curiously. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Abigail greeted softly. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?” He leaned back in his chair, and Jia seemed to take that as a cue to leave.

Abigail was quiet a moment before speaking. “You...know, don’t you?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, I know.”

“And you’re still letting me talk to your daughter?” She sounded incredulous now.

“You’re not so different from her.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, but they were true. “Should I be worried about letting you talk to Jia?”

“No!” Abigail answered quickly. “God, no. I wouldn’t… I could never…”

“I know.” Will took a breath and rested his face in a hand, feeling a little too overwhelmed to see just now.

She was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of her breathing. “It’s nice talking to Jia. She likes to complain to me about the boys at school. I don’t think she likes boys in general.”

He connected the dots. “She makes you feel normal.”

“Everyone at the hospital is always talking about their trauma,” Abigail mumbled in confirmation. “It gets tiring. Jia talks to me about normal things, and she sends me memes when I’m sad. She’s really sweet. It’s like having a friend.”

Or a little sister.

“Well, she is only ten,” Will pointed out. “You can’t talk to her about everything. Have you been making friends at the hospital?”

“Not really.” Abigail sighed, sending static through the connection. “All the girls here are crying all the time, and I don’t really relate to them. I don’t want to talk about my feelings. I know my feelings. I know why I’m having them. Talking about them doesn’t help me.”

He imagined she was the type to want things to do, rather than sit in introspection. She didn’t need insights into the meaning of her nightmares, but tools to cope with them.

“And what would help you, Abigail?” he asked. “Dr. Bloom thinks that you’re improving as you are.”

“Well, I couldn’t talk to her about… Well…” She took a breath. “It’s nice just to have someone understand. I know what I’m feeling. I know I feel guilty. I know that I did what I had to. But they wouldn’t understand. You and Dr. Lecter understand.”

Jia would understand, too.

Will stared at the pen in his hand and tried not to remember the knockback on his gun against his palm. “Does entertaining Jia make you happy?”

Abigail’s answer didn’t come immediately. “I used to babysit for the neighbors sometimes. It was fun, but I always went home after and let them live their lives. This...doesn’t feel like home. The hospital isn’t home. I don’t get to go home. And Jia makes me feel like I’ve got someone who’s waiting for me, like I can go back to her...and you...and Dr. Lecter.”

Will’s chest was painfully tight at the thought of them all together.

“You said you wanted to give me a home,” she continued, voice strained and soft.

A deep fondness that he hadn’t felt since he’d considered adopting Jia settled in his chest. “It’s here whenever you need it, Abigail.”

Her smile was audible as she asked, “Can I come over next weekend?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me talk to Dr. Bloom.”

Her voice broke when she mumbled, “Thank you.”

#

Hannibal felt the couple feet of distance between him and Will like a chasm. They sat in his office, across from each other, in their usual seats. But it wasn’t the same. They wouldn’t be the same again. That suited Hannibal just fine.

“I can feel my nerves,” Will mumbled, “clicking like roller coaster cogs, pulling up to the inevitable, long plunge.”

Was he referring to the possible fallout with Abigail or Hannibal?

“Quick sounds, quickly ended,” Hannibal observed.

“Abigail ended Nicholas Boyle—like a burst balloon.” The humorless curl to Will’s lips and twitch of his fingers against the armrest suggested deep discomfort. “She took a life.”

Hannibal saw the opportunity to push. “You’ve taken life.”

“Yeah, so have you.”

Countless more than Will knew, but that was a conversation for later. “You’re grieving, Will. Not for the life you’ve taken, but for the life that was taken from you. If Abigail could have started over, left the horror of her father behind, so could have you. You could untangle yourself from the madness and the murder.”

Will’s fingers wrapped around his armrests. “We lied for her.”

“We both know the unreality of taking a life.” Hannibal watched the darkness grow in Will’s eyes and wondered if they’d taste as dark. “The people who die when we have no other choice—we know in those moments, they are not flesh, but light and air and color.”

“Isn’t that what it is to be alive?” Will asked, as if it were obvious.

Hannibal leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you feel alive, Will?”

Will stared toward the door, but he wasn’t really looking at it. His gaze saw something not here. “I feel...like I’m in a dark room. There’s no saying which way the door is or how big the room is or what waits for me in the unseen. I feel like I’m fading there, like the dark is sinking into my skin and filling me until I’m just another part of it.”

A curious but promising change. “I suppose I should then ask what the darkness is. Is it malevolent? Cruel? Painful?”

“No. It’s...inviting.” Will spoke almost reverently.

Hannibal’s brows rose. “You want it to take you?”

Will’s eyes turned to Hannibal, and that darkness was there, lurking in his gaze. “I’m not sure it hasn’t already.”

There were a variety of things that could have meant, each with different degrees of significance. “Is this darkness a metaphor for death? Should I be concerned about your attachment to life?”

“No, it’s not depression.” Will smiled as if the concept amused him. “Depression is far too insidious for that. It’s the absence of feeling. It creeps into everything. This is far more forward, like hands pulling me under, but I’m somehow sure that I’ll be able to breathe in the water.”

Hannibal wasn’t quite seeing through the layers of metaphor and simile, which he concluded was because it was a deliberate veil. “You’ve had this darkness for a while.”

Will stared dispassionately at the wall. “It’s persistent.”

“Because you can’t shake it or because you don’t want to?”

Silence met the question.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Will. If I am a creature of hunger, what would I find in you?”

“Scorn,” Will answered immediately, as if he’d already considered the question. “I see...too much.”

Hannibal could certainly see the righteousness, the outrage, the _contempt_. But at what was it directed? “What do you scorn?”

Will took one breath, two, and then a third. “Sloppiness.”

“Sloppiness?” Hannibal echoed curiously.

“All these killers that only I can find because no one else seems to be able to see the mess they leave behind. It’s...offensive.” Will tapped his armrest a moment, and then returned his gaze to Hannibal. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Devon Silvestri, Abel Gideon. Sloppy.”

Hannibal shifted in his chair, desire spilling unbidden through him. It was no wonder Jia was so strategic and methodical, with Will always expecting the best of her, nurturing and refining her mind.

“You’re not sloppy, Dr. Lecter,” Will continued with a dubious narrowing of his eyes. “Furthest thing from it. Everything about you is so careful and deliberate, perfectly controlled. If not for Nicholas Boyle being found, I would have never known what you and Abigail did with him.”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to pay a compliment or express resentment.”

“That makes two of us.” Will had a slow smile. “Most of the world seems incompetent at concealing their sins. It’s bothered me all my life, but I never considered how infuriating it might be to meet someone who confounded me.”

Hannibal savored the heat rising in him. “Should I apologize?”

“Would it be genuine?”

“Not at all.”

Will chuckled and shook his head. “What am I supposed to think about you? Do I see you or just what you want me to see?”

Hannibal took a moment to deliberate how to answer. He settled on honesty. “You’ve seen more of me than anyone has.”

That seemed to pique Will’s interest, his eyes passing over Hannibal’s face searchingly. “By your concession or my observation?”

“Almost certainly a combination, though it’s hard to say at this point.” Hannibal crossed his legs in front of him. “You’ve done some concealing of your own. Perhaps what lurks in the dark is something you mean to keep hidden.”

“Or what I mean to keep contained,” Will murmured, voice barely above a whisper. 

Hannibal stared for a beat. “You fear it.”

“You want me to make peace with my demons.” The muscles of Will’s jaw flexed under his skin. “I don’t think they know the word.”

“Then I will have to tame them.”

Will arched a brow and a smile threatened to spread his lips. “Is that a promise?”

Hannibal was about to reply when a phone rang.

Will’s brows furrowed as he pulled his cell out. “This is Jia’s school,” he said. “Sorry.”

Hannibal waved a hand to express his unconcern.

Will held the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Hannibal watched an array of emotions cross Will’s face—shock, fear, anger, and then panic. There were a couple soft “yes,” “uh-huh,” “I understand.” And then Will pocketed his phone and stood.

“Jia was attacked at school,” he explained brokenly. “She's on her way to the hospital right now. They said it's not life-threatening, but she got a cut that needs stitches and lots of bruises."

Hannibal was on his feet immediately, fresh anger hot between his shoulder blades. "I'll drive you."

"Hannibal, I can't—"

"Put on your coat, Will."

Will swallowed and then took the coat from the back of his chair. 

They were on the road within a minute. Will was a solid line of tension in the passenger seat. His hands were bunched into fists in his lap, and he didn't move except to breathe and blink. Hannibal might have offered some words of comfort if he didn't know it would fall on deaf ears. Will hated to be coddled or comforted in any way. 

"Who attacked her?" Hannibal asked, his voice tighter than he expected. The anger was still burning, harsh in his blood.

Will took a breath. "A group of boys. Don’t know who. No one saw anything, and Jia obviously can’t identify her attackers."

Hannibal wasn't so sure about that. If anyone could figure it out, it was Jia. "And what does she claim?"

"I don't know. The school didn't take her statement, too busy getting her to a hospital." Will let out a shaky breath. "The boys came armed with bats."

Hannibal's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Did they now?"

Will glanced at him askance. "Baseball players."

Hannibal glared at the road ahead. Jia would probably know all the specifics. She listened for these things.

"You don't want to know who it is, do you?" Hannibal prompted.

Will just nodded his confirmation.

"Afraid of what you'll do?"

Another nod.

Hannibal had no such fears.

They got to the hospital in record time. The ER was small and mostly empty, not a lot of cases this far out in the sticks. As soon as Will gave his name to a nurse, they were led back to a sterile white exam area. Jia's room had another nurse in it, a pediatric one if the Spider-Man motifs on her scrubs were any indication. 

Jia sat in a bed. Bruises were forming on her arms, looking much like the ones she'd had when she first met Hannibal. Concentration on the ulnar sides. Defensive wounds. Her face seemed relatively unharmed, save for the bruise forming on one cheek. Gauze was stuck to a long cut on her shoulder.

Will rushed to her and took her hand gingerly. She was stone-faced as she gripped him tightly, but her eyes shimmered with tears. 

"She's been brave," the nurse said. "She was very good while we cleaned her cut. The doctor should be in soon to start the stitches, and then we wanted to do some X-rays, just to be sure there's nothing broken."

Hannibal shrugged out of his coat and blazer and left them at the foot of the bed before rolling his sleeves up. "Do let us know when you'd like her for X-rays."

"Thank you," Will murmured and carefully ran a finger over the swollen skin on Jia's cheek. 

"Let me just get the paperwork for you and your husband," the nurse said. 

Will's eyes widened. "Ah, we're—"

"Thank you, miss," Hannibal interrupted. "I'd also like to know her doctor's credentials."

"Hannibal," Will said chastisingly.

"I could do her stitches myself, Will. The only thing stopping me is hospital policy, and I'd like to know that she's in good hands."

The nurse looked Hannibal over. "Are you a doctor?"

"I was a surgeon once upon a time." Hannibal came to Jia's side, opposite Will. "I expect good work for her."

The nurse nodded with a tense smile. "Well, I'll check up on that and bring you back the paperwork." She left without another word. 

Hannibal washed his hands in the room's sink, and then pulled on gloves from a dispenser. Jia was silent and still while he gently pulled the gauze from her shoulder to inspect the wound.

It was a clean cut, certainly not done with any bat. That would've left a much more jagged laceration. A blade? Had another child actually brought a knife? How would such a weapon escape notice?

"I cut it on a broken screw in a pole," Jia explained softly, "when Mr. Kirwan shoved me into it."

Will visibly tensed. "A teacher did this to you?"

She chewed her lip a moment. "I was onto him. He's been spending a lot of time alone with Lily during lunch, and I had my suspicions. I caught him with her today. He saw me, I think, and… I’m not sure what happened. Maybe he was hitting me. Lily helped me get away. We ran. I told the teachers that some boys hit me with bats since the baseball team had lunchtime practice today, and no one would expect me to identify anyone."

Hannibal put the pieces together. “You don’t think Lily is going to testify, so you don’t have any evidence.”

"Lily hasn’t said anything so far," Jia mumbled. "She’s afraid. She might even try to protect him out of fear of making him angry. He might hurt her more, too, if he’s angry. And I can't prove it was him who hurt me anyway. He'd use my blindness to say I'm confused about events. I'm traumatized. I'm fragile. I'm disabled."

The level of societal awareness she had was impressive. Disabled people were assaulted at significantly higher rates than abled people, and any admin was more likely to believe a child would be hurt by a fellow student than by an adult. She’d planned for this.

Hannibal glanced at Will across the bed. This situation could very easily turn into a public scandal, complete with Freddie Lounds knocking at their door. 

Will let out a long, long breath. "Jia, you put yourself in real danger," he said. "This isn't chess. Why didn't you tell me about all this?"

"I never had any proof, just a hunch." Jia frowned. "I didn't think I was right. I was...hoping I wasn't right."

Hannibal couldn't shake the feeling that he was getting caught in one of her elaborate plots. Odd to discover something so terrible about a teacher and then plunge into it so recklessly. She always considered all the variables.

Had she gotten hurt because she’d known he would seek retribution for her?

Effective.

"You're not going back to school for the rest of the week," Will said. "I'll transfer you to a different school before I let you go to the same place as that teacher."

Hannibal had some of his own ideas about that—though he suspected his solution was a little more permanent. "What's this teacher's full name?" he asked.

"Ian Kirwan," Jia answered.

The name was committed to memory for later use.

“We need to speak to the police,” Will said. “The school said they were called. It’s probably only a matter of time before they show up.”

“Don’t mention Mr. Kirwan.” Jia seemed distressed by this now.

Will frowned. “Jia, he hurt you and—”

“And he’ll back off for long enough to avoid investigation, but as soon as they stop suspecting him, he’s going to go back to hurting Lily. I don’t have any evidence. We need evidence to stop him _now._ ”

Hannibal and Will looked at each other a long moment. Jia wasn’t wrong. Any accusations she made now wouldn’t have substance, and the teacher already knew she suspected him. He’d be prepared to face scrutiny.

“She’s right, Will,” Hannibal said. “We need to be smart about this if we’re going to remove him.”

Will’s jaw clenched, but he knew how the system worked. He’d been a cop. “We’re going to talk about this later,” he muttered.

Hannibal just nodded in return.

The doctor came in a few seconds later. She was a lean woman with gray streaks in her brown waves and warm, amber eyes. Hannibal eyed her carefully, but she didn’t seem intimidated by his gaze, which was promising.

“I’m Dr. Camila Garcia,” she introduced and held out a hand to Hannibal. “I take it you’re Jiali’s personal doctor.”

Hannibal removed a glove before shaking the offer. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

She offered a smile. “Ah, I’ve heard of you. You gave a lecture at Johns Hopkins a couple months ago on trauma and memory. You used to be a surgeon before you became a psychiatrist, right?”

He nodded. “I fix minds, rather than bodies now.”

“Well, I hope you’ll find me suitable enough to stitch up your daughter. I’ve been fixing bodies for thirty years now.”

A satisfactory work history, but only just.

“She’s not—” Will started.

“Papa is very particular,” Jia said with a mischievous grin, “but you shouldn’t worry. Dad keeps him in check.”

Dr. Garcia laughed. Will’s face turned bright red. Hannibal couldn’t help his own smile.

“Jia,” Will chastised, but his voice held no authority. If anything, he sounded like he was pleading.

“Hmm?” she replied innocently.

Hannibal rounded the bed to Will’s side. “I will be on my best behavior.”

“Low bar,” Will muttered under his breath.

Hannibal put a hand on Will’s lower back in response and leaned closer. “Did you say something, dear Will? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

He was going to pay for his teasing later, but the blush that burned up to Will’s ears was worth it.

“You’re both the worst,” Will grumbled, but the corners of his lips were trying to stay down.

Dr. Garcia watched them with obvious amusement as she washed her hands. “And what do you do for a living, Mr…?”

“Graham,” Will said. “I’m a lecturer at the FBI Academy and criminal profiler.”

Her brows rose. She pulled on gloves and rolled a stool to Jia’s side. “So you both have backgrounds in psychology?” The curiosity in her eyes suggested that she wanted to know how that worked in a relationship.

“One of many things we share in common,” Hannibal said with a fond glance at Will. “I think Jia gets tired of our psychology discussions, though.”

Jia shrugged. “It’s like listening to an audiobook.”

“She’s being kind,” Will said and smoothed a hand over her hair.

Dr. Garcia pulled a rolling tray with equipment for stitches toward her. “Well, Jia, I’m sure you’ll be a professor of psychology in no time with your expanded education.” She removed the gauze from Jia’s arm carefully and lifted a needle from the tray. “I’m going to numb the cut. You’ll feel a couple pinches. Ready?”

Jia nodded and squeezed Will’s hand.

Dr. Garcia was quick about injecting the local anesthesia, her movements efficient and calm from years of practice. She always gave Jia warning of the next thing to come. Her stitches were impeccable, and Hannibal watched with approval while she carefully bandaged the wound.

“And you’re done,” she announced when she finished. “You did so well, sweetie.”

Jia smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Dr. Garcia stood and removed her gloves. “Someone will be in shortly to go over insurance and payment before we take her for X-rays. I’ll write her a prescription for pain meds. We’ve given her some Tylenol for now, but her arms will be sore and swollen for a while. If the pain gets unmanageable, call me, so we can adjust her meds. Does she need a note for school?”

“Yes, please,” Will answered. “I intend to have her out for the rest of the week and maybe the next.”

Dr. Garcia nodded. “Then I’ll write that for you.” She left the room.

Hannibal carefully took one of Jia’s arms and inspected it. There was no obvious sign of a fracture, and she could turn her arms over, albeit painfully. He looked at her cheek next, palpating lightly. She winced a little, but the bone felt intact. Healing would be a long process and painful. That teacher would know worse pain.

“Are you going to stay with me, Dr. Lecter?” Jia asked suddenly.

Will glanced up at Hannibal expectantly, sending a clear message of what he wanted.

“I am,” Hannibal answered. “I’ll clear my appointments for tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Will said, but there was hope in his eyes.

Hannibal offered a small smile. “I must insist. It would ease my mind to monitor Jia’s recovery.” His smile dropped. “There is the issue of what to do about next week. It’s finals week for your students, isn’t it?”

Will arched a brow. “Are you suggesting you take next week off to watch her?”

“If you’re amenable. You’ll only be out for a few hours at a time to give the exam, right? I think I could keep some of my morning appointments.”

Will took a moment to reply, deliberating the offer. “All right. Thank you.”

Hannibal glanced at Jia. “You’re very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grave Mercy by Robin LaFevers - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9565548-grave-mercy
> 
> Assassin nuns. It's rad.


	16. Chapter 16

The police came just after Jia finished with X-rays. She repeated her story about being cornered by baseball players, whom she couldn’t identify. Will let her, a sinking feeling in his gut. It might’ve been one thing if other children had hurt her, but this had been an adult man, a teacher. The cop in him wanted to spill everything. Jia was right, though, and he’d have to hold off on getting law enforcement involved until they had a proper plan.

He could plant evidence.

It wouldn’t be that hard to get Kirwan’s home address, especially with FBI resources. That was a grave abuse of power, but Will suspected no one at the Bureau would have much to say about it. Or he could try to get his hands on Kirwan’s work laptop. Easier to confiscate that than get a warrant to search the guy’s house.

He forced himself to stop thinking about it while he checked Jia out. She didn’t have any broken bones, just bruising. That was a small blessing. Will didn’t know what he would have done if she’d had to get a cast when he was already barely containing his rage. Murder didn’t seem so forbidden now.

Hannibal drove them to the house. He took a bag from the trunk of the car while Will helped Jia in. His only explanation about the bag was that he’d started keeping more changes of clothes with him, with no acknowledgement as to why he thought that necessary.

Jia knocked out from the pain meds just a few minutes after being home. Will tucked her into bed, being careful to arrange her limbs in a way that wouldn’t cause further pain, and then trotted downstairs. Hannibal was in the kitchen, chopping tomatoes. A pan of diced onions and garlic was already sizzling on the stove.

“We must go grocery shopping tomorrow,” he said as soon as he saw Will. “The scarcity of your produce is alarming.”

Will rested his hip on the countertop, watching curiously. “And what are you making from my scarce ingredients?”

“Pasta.”

“Pasta...what?”

“Just pasta.”

“No long Italian name to go with it?”

“It’s pasta, Will.” Hannibal scraped the tomato pieces into an empty bowl waiting on the counter. 

Will watched Hannibal flit around his kitchen. They were silent, seeming to both be lost to their thoughts, but Will suspected they were thinking about the same thing. It couldn’t be ignored for long.

“We have to deal with that teacher,” Will said while Hannibal stirred a boiling pot of noodles.

“Do you have any ideas?” Hannibal asked with deceptive calm. “I find myself straying toward less savory methods.”

Will folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t think my ideas are any more savory.”

“I’d still like to hear them.”

Will took a breath, unsettled that he was actually considering this. “It wouldn’t be hard to download child pornography onto his work laptop and then accuse him possession of it. Even if he didn’t get jail time, he’d be put on the sex offender registry and be removed from the school.”

Hannibal cut into mushrooms. “You are far kinder than me.”

Will didn’t think it was kindness. What he actually wanted to do was break every one of Kirwan’s fingers before cutting his dick into lengthwise cross-sections. The only thing stopping him was the certainty he’d get caught. Jia getting hurt would coincide too neatly with Kirwan’s demise, and even if the teacher wasn’t directly implicated, there was no way of knowing if anyone else had noticed Jia’s suspicions toward him. The police would put two and two together eventually.

“How do you intend to gain access to Kirwan’s laptop?” Hannibal asked and slid the mushrooms into the saucepan.

Will took two wine glasses from a cabinet. “What are you doing tonight?”

Hannibal’s hand froze while stirring the noodles. He looked up from the stove slowly. Will took the bottle of wine from atop the fridge and set it on the counter. It’d been a gift from Alana months ago that he’d never opened. But today seemed to be as good a day as any.

“I’m with you,” Hannibal said, voice low.

Will got a corkscrew from a drawer and uncorked the wine. “I was hoping so.” He poured them both a glass.

Hannibal’s brows rose when he sipped it. “This is good. Did you choose it yourself?”

“Afraid not. That’s Alana’s doing. I prefer drier wines.” Will sipped the wine as he stared thoughtfully at the wall. “Do you think Jia could wake up in the night while she’s medicated?”

“Unlikely.” Hannibal stirred the contents in the saucepan, but he didn’t seem as though he were looking at what he was doing. His gaze was far away.

Will swirled the wine in his glass. “Then I think I just need a flash drive and fifteen minutes.”

#

It took five minutes to find Ian Kirwan’s home address. It took seven to download 1 GB of child pornography onto a flash drive from a website the FBI monitored. Will tried not to think about what he was doing. It was going to make him vomit the lovely pasta Hannibal had made for dinner.

They left a quarter after two in the morning, dressed in non-descript clothes, and parked three blocks away from the address. The suburbs here were quiet and still in the night. Will heard every footfall and beat of his heart, and if not for Hannibal next to him, he might have panicked and turned tail.

Picking the lock on the back door was easy. The house was old, as most were in these parts. Hannibal stood at the base of the stairs, the only access from the bedrooms, while Will searched the place for a laptop. If Kirwan liked to work in bed, they might have to come up with a different plan, but thankfully, the laptop was on the coffee table in the living room. A sticky label had random numbers and letters on it, likely a tracking number for the school’s tech people.

Will downloaded everything on the flash drive to a folder that wasn’t terribly hard to find, but not glaringly obvious. He left everything as he found it before waving for Hannibal to leave. They crept out the back again, making sure to lock the door again. Will tossed the flash drive in a trashcan at the curb as they headed back to the car.

It was a silent drive back, which was just as well. Will didn’t know what he’d say. He’d broken several laws just now with Hannibal as his accomplice. If they weren’t already tied together, they were now.

The dogs were thankfully quiet when they arrived home, other than some excited breaths and tail-wagging. Will went upstairs to check on Jia. She was still sound asleep, as expected, so he planted a kiss on her forehead and headed downstairs again.

Hannibal had taken the cushions off the couch in the living room. He paused when Will stepped in.

“Everything all right, Will?” he asked.

Will started putting the couch cushions back, letting his inhibitions pass ineffectually through him. Hannibal just watched him. Patient. Waiting. His silence filled the room with everything he wasn’t saying. It occupied every crevice, a life and weight all its own.

Every beat of Will’s heart pushed against his sternum while he headed for the stairs again. Hannibal stayed where he was, gaze cautious and curious.

“Come,” Will whispered, voice soft and yet too loud in the night.

He didn’t wait for a reply, just went up the stairs. Footsteps sounded behind him eventually.

His room felt too small for the both of them, but like every other uncomfortable thought, Will ignored it and stripped down to his short. Hannibal did the same. They pulled on sweatpants and t-shirts from Will’s stockpile. And then they slipped into Will’s bed.

One, two, three, four, five…

Will breathed in and out, comforted and disquieted simultaneously by the warmth and weight beside him. It’d been years since he’d had anyone but Jia in his bed. He’d forgotten how it could be. His breaths weren’t loud, but they were all he could hear in the quiet. 

Hannibal turned toward him. He cautiously passed a hand up Will’s arms and pulled lightly. Will settled onto his side, but he didn’t dare look for Hannibal’s gaze in the dark, knowing it’d be too much. His eyes shut. Lips passed over his forehead and one cheek. They paused at the corner of his mouth, a silent request for permission.

Will turned his head slowly, incrementally. Their lips came together with maddening gentleness. The heat that pulsed through Will’s body was almost uncomfortable in its intensity. He wondered if he’d break under it or burn up from the inside out. Was it supposed to feel this way? Had it ever? Who was to blame—him or Hannibal? Did it matter?

His head was swimming when he pulled away ever so slightly. Hannibal was still unbearably close, but he made no move to escalate things, for which Will was grateful. There was only so much he could take in a night. 

“Thank you,” he heard himself say, “for helping me protect her.”

Hannibal’s smile was audible as he murmured, “It’s my honor.”

#

The next few days were surreal. Will called in an anonymous tip, and Kirwan had been stupid enough to willing subject his computer to a search. They’d discovered the photos, of course. It’d been a tidy removal from the school that’d gotten messy press coverage. Kirwan was going to be spending the next couple years in a cell and never allowed near a school again.

And then, of course, again, there was Hannibal.

They hadn’t talked about the kiss. They probably wouldn’t. That was good for now.

Will oscillated wildly between wanting more and being cautious. The latter felt more like resisting gravity, but he held onto his hesitance. This was new and unlike anything he’d encountered before. Hannibal was unlike anything he’d encountered before. 

_ See? _

Will didn’t want to see.

The weekend came like any other, but when Abigail arrived with Hannibal, there was no activity to do. Jia needed rest. Her bruises were healing slowly but steadily, and she wasn’t up for much more than a walk around the house before she got tired. So Abigail read to her. Hannibal played chess with her. Will did some last-minute edits on his exam.

Calm. Domestic. Normal.

It wouldn’t last. It never did.

Will got the call Monday afternoon just as his students were finishing up their final. Abel Gideon had escaped custody while en route to court, and Jack wanted Will’s special mind on the trail. Hannibal, of course, offered to watch Jia longer, which didn’t give Will any excuse to refuse.

That was how he found himself on a blockaded road, staring at an armored van filled with bodies. Forensics was taking pictures, cataloguing every detail of the scene as if it would help them find Gideon. Will took in everything. The pieces of it clicked together like cogs in a clock.

One, two, three, four, five…

He sits in the back of the van, hands and ankles bound in cuffs. An orderly and security guard sit across from him. They’re silent, bored. It’s uncomfortable for them to be trapped in here with him, but it’s also routine. 

The amusement wells up in his throat. “All I need is one hand free,” he warns a moment before dislocating the first metacarpal. His thumb moves out of the way enough for him to slip his hand from the cuff.

The security guard moves first. His punch lands just before Will gets his thumb back in place. They sprawl over the bench, but not before Will kicks the orderly back. The security guard is heavy. He’s only thrown when Will gets a knee between them and pushes.

Two seconds is all the time he has to wrap the chain of his cuffs around the orderly’s neck until he has to swing at the guard. It’s ineffective. The orderly throws him down, and then the guard is also on top of him. But pain isn’t so bad.

He gets an arm around the orderly’s neck again and kicks the guard’s head into the roof. One kick, two kicks, three kicks, four… Five, six, seven, eight more!

The guard collapses on a bench, neck bent at an odd angle. Will flips the orderly over and grabs a discarded cuff. The end sinks messily into the orderly’s neck. Arterial spray decorates the doors. 

The van lurches as the driver hits the breaks, sending Will back. He gets to his feet quickly. Manic glee rises in him while he waits for the doors to open.

Will opened his eyes again. The mania drained rapidly, leaving him tired. Jack came up behind him while he analyzed the threads of the reconstruction.

“So does Abel Gideon still believe that he’s the Chesapeake Ripper?” Jack asked, voice hard.

Will shook his head while he looked to the trees. “Abel Gideon is having a difference of opinion about who he is.”

Organs—hearts and kidneys—hung from the dead branches. Price, Zeller, and Beverly were all inspecting the ornaments Gideon had left. 

“The man who escaped from that van,” Will continued, “was not in the same state of mind when he did this.”

Beverly trudged through the snow up to them. “He took a uniform, police radio, two nine millimeter hanguns, pepper spray, taser, and handcuffs.” She sounded tired while she said it.

Will wanted to go home. “Well, it’s what he didn’t take.”

“He hung the organs from the branch with veins from the victims,” Price said and pointed to the organs in question. “He even tied little bows with some of them.”

Ever the one with words, Zeller added, “Yeah, it’s really impressive.”

Will wanted to go home even more. “The Chesapeake Ripper would not have left the organs behind.”

“Well, if Gideon isn’t the Chesapeake Ripper,” Jack said, “he’s certainly trying to get his attention.”

That would be a losing battle. Gideon wasn’t half as cunning as the Ripper.

Beverly let out a heavy sigh, forming a white puff with her breath. “Local PD picked up a foot trail leading out of the woods. Boot soles are consistent with the ones we found at the crime scene.”

“How fresh are the tracks?” Jack asked, seeming unsettled. 

“Two, three hours old?”

“Which direction they headed?”

“Back to Baltimore.”

Will hated his next words. “We need to go see Dr. Chilton. He might have more to help us figure out where Gideon is going.”

“I’ll send Alana to the BSHCI with you,” Jack offered.

Will just nodded and headed for his car. 

The drive back to Baltimore passed in a haze while a headache beat behind his eyes. He wanted to catch Gideon, but just the idea of having to interact with him or Chilton was exhausting. He shouldn’t have been here anyway. Jia was at home, waiting for him. He just had to get through this, and then he could leave.

Alana met him on the steps of the BSHCI. She seemed sympathetic as they headed inside and up to Chilton’s office. The ethically questionable psychiatrist was on the defensive as soon as they stepped in.

“I suppose this is my fault, too?” he said in lieu of greeting.

Will shoved his hands in his pockets, so he didn’t have to think about wrapping them around Chilton’s neck. “You did dodge a bullet,” he commented. “Gideon’s escape foregoes a trial and very public humiliation for you.”

Gideon had been on his way to court in order to sue Chilton for malpractice. The motivation was easy enough to glean.

Chilton seemed unfazed. “And now you are hosting a private one. Next you’ll be accusing me of arranging his escape.”

Alana’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “No one’s making that accusation.”

“If we’re tossing around the blame, Dr. Bloom, you’re due your fair share. You planted the idea that I was unethically manipulating Gideon.”

Will wondered if Chilton’s skin would seem less obnoxious charred. 

“Well, according to Gideon,” Alana shot back, “you were.”

“After you told him I was.” Chilton’s voice was grating in its arrogance. “You thought I was manipulating him? He was manipulating you.”

Sloppy diversion. 

“You were pushing him,” Alana accused.

Chilton scoffed. “He gave me informed consent to treat him, said that he was grateful for my help in understanding who he is.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “And what did you help him understand?”

“He was not insane when he killed his wife,” Chilton answered and stood from behind his desk, as if trying to gain height. “Killing her drove him insane.”

Will was so, so tired of this nonsense.

“I did not convince him that he was a serial killer,” Chilton insisted. “I just reminded him of the fact.”

“Gideon is not the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will all but growled, “although he might have thought he was under your care, Doctor.”

Alana sighed. “Whether he is or isn’t doesn’t really matter right now. If he thinks he is or even if he’s confused on that issue, he’ll kill again.”

Chilton’s smile wasn’t warm. “I hope he isn’t—I mean, for your sake. Cannot imagine how you would sleep with that on your shoulders.”

The headache was getting worse, and Will was sorely tempted to download a gig of child porn on Chilton’s laptop for just a sliver of a chance that he wouldn’t have to hear him talk anymore.

“How did you sleep when Gideon killed your nurse?” Alana snapped, also at the end of her patience.

Will grabbed her arm before she could say something she’d really regret, but she just shrugged out of his grip.

“What does Gideon want?” she demanded. 

Chilton sank back in his chair with a nonchalant shrug. “The last thing Abel Gideon said to me is that he intends to tell everyone that he is the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Alana looked ready to fight again at that admission, but Will grabbed her arm again.

“Don’t,” he warned. “He’s got nothing useful he’s going to give us.”

She snatched her arm back and marched out of the office. 

“She’s very passionate,” Chilton said with a derisive smile.

“You know, Dr. Chilton,” Will said evenly, “one day you’re going to come face to face with your mistakes. I would suggest making friends who are interested in your survival.”

Will left it at that and headed out of the BSHCI. Alana stood on the steps, taking deep breaths into the frigid air.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “He’s such a dick.”

Will chuckled. “You’ll find no argument from me.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “You heading home now?”

“That was the plan. Hannibal is watching Jia right now, but I think I need to give him fewer excuses to stay in my home.”

She arched a brow. “Overstaying his welcome?”

Will almost laughed at that. “More like he isn’t, and I’m panicking.”

“Is having a friend so scary?” She had a teasing smile. “You two seem inseparable these days.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “This was easier before I had a daughter.”

Her eyes softened. “How is she?”

“She’s strong as ever. I don’t think anything could get to that kid.” Will’s chuckle was humorless. “She met the Ripper and wanted to be his friend.”

“I can’t imagine being friends with a serial killer. Sounds stressful.” She shook her head. “Well, I should let you get back to your daughter. Give her a kiss for me.”

“Will do.”

He watched her disappear down the sidewalk, an odd feeling turning in his chest. 

In a minute, he’d get in his car and drive home. Jia would be waiting for him, waiting to tell him about her day and the newest thing Abigail sent. 

In a minute, he’d get in his car and drive home. His dogs would greet him with wagging tails and slobber.

In a minute, he’d get in his car and drive home. Hannibal would have one of those small smiles for him that made the world a little brighter. 

In a minute.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I started a comic called "I Think My Wife is a Vampire," which you can find here: https://tkhuynh.wordpress.com
> 
> It's about a woman who thinks her wife is a vampire.

Gideon abducted Freddie Lounds and Chilton. By his own admission, Will wasn’t particularly interested in going after them. Freddie was tasteless and viciously ambitious, and Chilton’s ethically unsound practices were caused entirely by conceit. They were dangerous—certainly influences who made Gideon who he was now. But Gideon’s baiting of the Ripper using Freddie and Chilton couldn’t go unanswered.

Gideon had killed one of his old psychiatrists by making the unfortunate doctor’s tongue into a necktie. It’d been well-documented and published on _Tattlecrime_ by Ms. Lounds. Breadcrumbs. The article was meant to lead the Ripper to Gideon—perhaps as an offer of good faith, perhaps as bait. Regardless, Hannibal was nothing if not meticulous, and he knew his dear Will would see the chess pieces laid out for what they were. 

So Hannibal recreated Gideon’s performance on a psychiatrist who liked to sleep with his patients. His only divergence from the format was a severed arm. It’d get the FBI’s attention. It’d get Will’s attention. And Will would get Jack’s attention.

Within hours, Jack called a raid on the observatory where Hannibal had left Miriam Lass’ arm. And that was Will’s trial to deal with.

In the meantime, Hannibal brought Jia and Abigail to Alana's for dinner. The girls seemed content to entertain each other while Hannibal cooked. Alana’s kitchen was a mix of dark granite and dark cabinets, with russet tile walls. Tasteful, but required ample light to appreciate.

Jia had found Alana’s piano halfway through cooking dinner. The playful notes of Dax Johnson’s “Fundamental Elements of Madness” drifted out from the living room. Hannibal was delighted and impressed by the choice. Jia couldn’t read sheet music, so she had to learn every piece by ear. And her sense of humor was as dark as her father’s. Hannibal didn’t doubt she’d selected the music for him and all he represented. His smile stretched wide when the song switched into the faster, more urgent “The Race.”

“She’s so talented,” Alana commented as she leaned on a countertop and sipped her wine.

Hannibal stirred the contents of his pan. “Will has nurtured every interest and talent she has. I think she could compose her own music if she wanted.” He chuckled. “She’s playing Dax Johnson. Careful she doesn’t start plucking your piano strings.”

Alana’s brows rose. “That’s a thing?”

“Mr. Johnson was a rare artist, one who liked to push the boundaries of his medium.”

“ _Was_ a rare artist?”

“He died several years ago.” Hannibal was still disappointed at the loss of such an incredible creative. “I’ll let you know if Jia starts playing ‘Jadynn’s Lullaby’ or ‘Levity.’ I don’t think she’d pluck your piano strings, but I don’t doubt that she could.”

Alana sipped her wine and stared at the wall across the room, seeming to contemplate something. “You’re close with her and Will now—and Abigail. They love you.”

Hannibal had prepared for this conversation, anticipating Alana would notice their pseudo-family dynamic. She wasn’t so much nosy as she was concerned. It was usually inconsequential, but in this case, it was hazardous.

“It was accidental,” Hannibal murmured. “I didn’t anticipate how fond I’d grow of them.”

Alana swirled her wine in her glass. “Will seems happy.”

He let the sauce simmer and turned to face Alana. “Does he? It’s hard to tell sometimes when he usually comes to me with the hardships Jack inflicts upon him.”

“Do I detect disapproval or protectiveness?” She had a little smile, but it was strained.

“Do you mean to ask me something, Alana?” He kept his tone pleasant enough. “Or do you intend to prod a confession of my sins from me?”

She cocked a brow. “Are they sins?”

“That depends on who’s asking.”

She took a sip of wine slowly, a contemplative look on her face. “I know Will isn’t officially your patient, but I wonder sometimes at your intentions with him. Do you want to study him, befriend him, or...something more?”

Hannibal didn’t see why he couldn’t do all three. “I think that’s up to him.”

“Oh? And you’d be satisfied with something platonic?” She had a knowing glint in her eyes.

Hannibal stared at the bubbles forming in the sauce. “No, I don’t suppose I would be.”

She was quiet a moment. “Do you love him?”

What an odd concept. Love forged deep bonds, the kind that could shape a person in their formation and in their breaking. Hannibal had been made at the point where his teacup shattered, and he was still waiting for the pieces to come back together.

The piano abruptly cut out. Hannibal was jarred by the silence, and it set him on edge. Alana seemed similarly disconcerted. She set her glass on the counter and headed for the living room. Her entire body tensed. She halted in the doorway. Hannibal watched curiously while she backed away. Abel Gideon emerged after her, a knife held toward her.

“Dr. Gideon,” Hannibal greeted. “Did you leave the young girls alone?” He’d have to come up with something special for Gideon if he laid a hand on either Jia or Abigail.

Gideon didn’t look away from Alana, as if unconcerned by Hannibal’s presence. “The older girl grabbed the little one as soon as she saw me and jumped out the window.”

Fast thinking on Abigail’s part. Hannibal was proud.

“You don’t need to do this, Abel,” Alana said evenly, though she was trembling now.

Gideon’s brows rose. “Oh, I know, Dr. Bloom. I _want_ to do this.” He looked her over. “I wonder what I’d find under your skin. I bet it’s as pretty as what’s on the outside.”

Hannibal had just found a grip on a bread knife when he spied Abigail. She was creeping through the living room doorway, barefeet damp with melted snow. A frosty stone was clutched tight in her hand. He stared with growing pride and fascination while she hoisted the stone over her head. It came down with all the force her lean body could muster. 

Gideon’s skull crunched. He collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

Abigail dropped the stone with a clatter. Her breath came harshly. She wrapped her shaking arms around herself and collapsed to her knees. A panic attack.

“Alana, call the police,” Hannibal ordered before rushing past Abigail.

The living room window was wide open, letting in frigid air. He peered through it and into the snow. Jia was huddled just a few feet away, sweater drawn close to her body, so he jumped through the window, heedless of the snow dampening the bottom of his slacks. She lifted her head as he approached.

“Did she kill him?” she asked immediately.

Hannibal carefully scooped her into his arms. “Did you want her to?”

She shrugged. “It was a possibility.”

Such a terrifying, little thing. “And what did you tell her?”

“Just that she was brave, and I trusted her to protect me from the monsters.”

_I survived the monsters once. I can survive them again._

The idea had been planted long ago, and it was now bearing fruit. Abigail was growing bolder. Because she believed she could. Because she wanted to survive the monsters in her head. Because she had something worth fighting for now.

“What do you intend to make of Abigail?” Hannibal asked as he headed around the side of the house.

Jia’s answer was immediate. “Someone strong and free.”

He was about to commend her work when a scream tore through the air. Alana’s voice. His feet propelled him forward. He left Jia on the front deck and rushed into the house. 

Gideon was on his feet with a knife to Alana’s throat. Abigail had a steak knife against his carotid, her hand trembling, but her gaze steady. Hannibal hoped she would just make the cut, even if he knew she wouldn’t. He was preparing to try talking Gideon down, as a good citizen would, but then there was a warm hand at his shoulder and a rough voice at his ear.

“Hannibal, stand back,” Will virtually growled.

Hannibal shivered. He backed up slowly, and Will rounded him, gun raised.

The scene played out beautifully. Will was coiled rage as he stepped closer to Gideon. Abigail glanced at him, and then with an almost imperceptible nod, she pressed her knife in. Will fired at the same time. Gideon leaned away from Abigail’s knife, perhaps sparing him from certain death, but the bullet caught him in the chest. He fell to the floor. His blood slid through the grout between the tiles.

Alana stumbled back, a long but superficial cut in her neck. It wasn’t bleeding enough to indicate an artery had been hit. Abigail went to her as Will rushed for Gideon. Hannibal was content to watch. Gideon, of course, wasn’t ready to give up the fight, still clutching his knife.

Instead of firing another shot, Will stomped on Gideon’s wrist, eliciting several cracks. He straddled Gideon’s chest and threw one punch, then two, then three. By six, Alana called for him to stop. Abigail was silent, watching with hard eyes.

Hannibal caught Will’s wrist before the seventh blow. Will froze, but his eyes never turned from Gideon’s prone form.

Hannibal sank to his knees. “It’s enough,” he whispered. “It’s enough, Will."

Will didn’t resist while Hannibal pushed his bloody fist down. They got to their feet slowly. Every breath Will drew was fast and heavy, and his eyes never strayed from Gideon. There was still murder in his gaze. It was in the tension of his shoulders and hands. He would have taken Gideon’s life if Hannibal had let him.

That thought alone sent desire burning hot down Hannibal’s spine, sweet and spicy like the syrah Will liked.

“Will,” Hannibal said gently. “Look at me.”

Will hesitantly turned his eyes toward Hannibal. The violent fury in them was delectable.

“I knew he’d go for Alana,” Will murmured tightly. “You weren’t supposed to be here. Why were you here?”

“I didn’t think he’d elude the FBI.” Hannibal cupped Will’s jaw. “Forgive me.”

Will dropped his head to Hannibal’s shoulder and took several deep breaths. Hannibal let his fingers thread through Will’s hair, curls soft and damp with melted snow. The stillness around them would be broken soon by sirens and flashing lights and questions.

“Did you know?” Will spoke so softly that Hannibal almost missed the question.

“Did I know what?” Hannibal asked.

“About Abigail.”

Hannibal glanced at the girl in question. She was staring at the blood on her steak knife, and then looking toward Gideon. Her actions had been coordinated with Will’s—a team in the face of a threat. It’d been beautiful to behold. Will was doubtlessly wondering how much she’d partnered with her father before him.

“I suspected,” Hannibal admitted, “but I think I know now.”

Will nodded, as if he’d been expecting the answer. “I can’t think about that, not yet.”

“Then don’t.” Hannibal pressed his cheek to Will’s head. “We’ll be home soon.”

#

“Soon” ended up being an hour later. After the FBI and police took everyone’s statement, forty-five minutes had passed. Will rushed out with Jia as soon as possible. Abigail insisted on coming with, saying she felt more at ease to know Jia was there and all right. Alana couldn’t refuse that.

Hannibal’s house was closer than Wolf Trap, so he offered his guest rooms. Jia and Abigail could share one. Will could have another, if he wanted it. But something in the way he kept looking at Hannibal seemed to indicate he wasn’t interested in having his own room. Desire or anxiety? Both? Whatever Will’s reasons for that look, he didn’t bring it up.

Hannibal drove Abigail while Will took Jia in his own car. 

"You were very brave, Abigail," Hannibal commented five minutes into the drive. "If not for your actions, I think Dr. Bloom would be dead."

Abigail folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. "I just kept thinking that I had to protect Jia, that I knew I could.”

And he didn’t doubt that Jia had made a permanent guard of Abigail—purposely or incidentally had yet to be seen. “And what were you thinking when Will came in? You two seemed to coordinate your actions without needing a word said.”

“I just...knew. We had to do something.” Abigail flexed her hands and then clenched them again. 

Hannibal glanced at her sidelong, seeing the chance to push that much further. “No one else knows the truth, do they? The truth you’re trying to avoid.” When she was silent and still, he pressed, “The one you cannot admit even to yourself.”

She let out a slow, shaking breath. When she spoke, it was a whisper. “I helped him.”

Not enough. “I can’t hear you.”

“I helped him,” she bit out, and then softer: “I knew what my father was. I knew what he did. I knew.”

Hannibal waited quietly for her to continue. She needed to get this out on her own.

“I was the one who met the girls...talked to them...laughed and joked.” Her eyes stared off into something long past. “I found out where they lived, where they were going, when they’d be alone—girls that looked just like me. They could have been my friends. I couldn’t say no to him. I knew… I knew it was them or me.”

Her eyes shot to Hannibal then, as if expecting him to disapprove, to condemn her for the monster she was. But he only reached over to take her trembling hand. Her tears fell then, little beads that trailed slowly and silently down her cheeks.

“I wondered when you would tell me,” he admitted.

She released a long breath. “I’m a monster.”

He held her hand tighter. “No, I know what monsters are. You are a victim. A monster wouldn’t have protected Jia and Dr. Bloom. And Will and I… We’re going to protect you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the tears flow freely now. They were silent the remainder of the drive. Abigail’s crying ebbed by the time they pulled into his driveway, and she seemed stronger— _freer_ —than earlier. She’d face this head on. Jia had made sure of that.

Will was already waiting with Jia in his arms at the front door. They were speaking in low voices, inaudible from a distance, and they went silent when they saw Hannibal and Abigail. There was nothing that was said, or needed to be said just yet, while Hannibal unlocked his front door and let everyone inside. He instructed Abigail to show Jia to the bathroom and pick out a toothbrush. Abigail had spent enough time in his house by now to know where everything was.

Will set Jia on the floor and let Abigail lead her away. He waited until the girls had disappeared upstairs to speak.

“I can’t keep lying to Jack,” he mumbled and leaned against the wall. “I can’t lie about this.”

Hannibal wasn’t concerned with the obvious threat. “She saved Jia’s life, Will. She put her life on the line for Alana. She’s not a danger. She did what she had to.”

The cords of Will’s neck flexed as he glowered at the floor. “She lured those girls. She might as well have killed them.”

“We’ve killed people because we had to. Are we monsters?” When Will didn’t reply, Hannibal continued gently, “What do you think Jack would do to her? Would it be fair? Just?”

“He’d burn her alive.” Will pressed a hand over his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to see anymore.

“She was a child put in unfair circumstances who did what she thought was necessary. Jia would have done the same—or attempted to—if not for the Ripper’s timeliness.” 

“How can you be so calm about this?”

Hannibal fully expected a flinch back when he placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, but there wasn’t any reaction at all. “I’ve seen real darkness in this world, Will, just as you have. Abigail isn’t that. She loves Jia. She loves you.”

“And you.” Will finally dropped his hand, revealing the shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. “Are we her family? Are we her home?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Hannibal took a slow step forward, and then another, until he was almost pressed up against Will.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Will breathed, voice so soft that he was almost inaudible even this close. “I’ve never had anyone else...mean that.”

Hannibal let his hand wander up to Will’s jaw, and warmth spread through him when Will leaned into the touch. “Family doesn’t have to be a foreign concept.”

“Isn’t it foreign to you, too?” Will was holding eye contact, seeming undaunted by it now.

“It’s growing less foreign. I think I’ve grown fond of how domestic it is actually.” Hannibal dropped his hand to Will’s and lifted it between them. The bloody knuckles were scabbing over, but they hadn’t been cleaned properly yet.

“You were going to kill Gideon for us,” Hannibal said—not a question. It didn’t need to be. He knew.

Will’s eyes still hadn’t left Hannibal’s. “I saw Jia on the porch and Abigail with the knife, and you…” His gaze was dark. “What are you doing to me?”

Swords were forged in fire and shaped by the impact of mallets. Will already had the basic shape. He just needed a grindstone to sharpen him into something beautiful and lethal. 

Hannibal lifted Will’s hand to his lips, not quite touching the knuckles, but close. His blood was probably as delicious as the rest of him seemed.

“I could ask you the same question,” Hannibal murmured.

The tension between them was perfectly palpable, and Hannibal knew that the longer he drew it out, the more likely Will would be to snap under the pressure. He stepped back and led Will into the kitchen wordlessly.

Washing Will’s knuckles was a silent affair. Soaking them in clean water was necessary to soften the scabs. The lines of red that streaked through the bowl Hannibal offered faded into diffused pink after a few seconds. There was a medical kit above the fridge for the rare kitchen accident, and Hannibal took care in applying antiseptic from it before dabbing gauze over the abrasions. Wrapping the hand came with slow, deliberate movements that Will watched with rapt attention.

Abigail came in just as Hannibal cut the excess of the bandages. “I put Jia in one of the guest beds,” she informed. “I was reading to her off my phone, and she knocked out.”

“Plenty of excitement today,” Hannibal said and packed up the kit.

Will slid off the countertop and landed softly on his feet. “Thank you, Abigail...for looking out for her.”

She offered a tense smile. “Of course. She’s like a little sister now.” As soon as the words were out, she clamped her mouth shut, and pink bloomed in her cheeks.

“I suppose she is,” Will agreed easily. “You want to share the bed with her? She could use the company, I’m sure.”

Abigail nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, I can… I can do that.” She glanced at Hannibal, and then back to Will. “Good night then.”

“Good night, Abigail,” Hannibal intoned.

She wandered out, footsteps disappearing into the empty spaces of the house. Hannibal put the medical kit back over the fridge and tossed the bowl of bloody water into his sink. Will hadn’t moved from his spot. He stared at the floor, seeming to contemplate something. Hannibal came up to him curiously.

“Are you all—” His words died on his lips when Will wrapped a hand around the back of Hannibal’s neck and pulled. The suddenness of the motion threw off Hannibal’s balance, forcing him to grab the countertop behind Will. The result was an accidental but welcome entrapment of Will.

Their faces were inches apart. The warmth of Will’s breath rivaled the heat of his hand.

“I feel out of control,” he whispered, lips almost brushing Hannibal’s.

“You went through something very traumatic today,” Hannibal reasoned.

Will closed his eyes. “I felt in control when I was beating Gideon. I feel out of control with you.”

The admission almost made Hannibal shiver. “Afraid I’ll let you fall?”

“Afraid I’ll take you with me.”

“What if I want to go?”

“That would be madness.” Will’s forehead pressed to Hannibal’s. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Hannibal leaned in, pinning Will’s hips to the counter. “I think you have the basic mechanics down.”

Will’s chuckle was more a huff. “It’s been a long time.”

“You seem proficient to me.” Hannibal let his hands settle on Will’s waist. “I think I’m already falling anyway.”

Will stopped breathing altogether. His eyes snapped open. The blue revealed was wide, almost panicked, but he didn’t move away. His hand tightened on Hannibal’s neck, pulling, urging. The first breath he drew after several seconds trembled. And then the tension fell out of his body. His eyes slid closed as he let Hannibal close the distance between then.

The kiss was firmer than the hesitant one they’d shared last week, but it was still soft, testing. Will had none of the shyness that Hannibal expected. Rather, he was insistent, almost searching, like he was trying to draw Hannibal out. Maybe he was. Maybe he could sense the tight control Hannibal always kept on himself.

“I’m sleeping in your bed tonight,” Will whispered when they pulled apart, not an order or request—fact.

Their mouths met with more fervor than the first time. Hannibal could feel his rationality waning, and when Will parted his lips, he pressed closer, his restraint threatening to snap. A groan escaped him at the first tug of his hair. Fire shot down his spine. He only had a moment to wonder if this was what Icarus felt like in the light of the sun before Will rolled his hips. The resulting electricity made Hannibal consider ruining his kitchen.

“Take me to bed,” Will said breathlessly. “Please.”

And Hannibal obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dax Johnson's work (in order of mention)  
> Fundamental Elements of Madness: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xo8N8TqPwFo  
> The Race: https://youtu.be/TIjUC-EC6bY?t=2995  
> Jadynn's Lullaby: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiKHQ4ZkXhk  
> Levity: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJHfmvhpBRo


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's sex. You've been warned.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by the song "Stay Still" by Jome and EXES:
> 
> https://youtu.be/1A5TTZqtjmw
> 
> For the first time wishing we had more time  
> Wishing for a story line, one that doesn't end without you  
> And it feels like walking with my hands tied  
> Bracing for the sunrise till it starts again

Will felt out of his right mind. To be fair, he hadn’t felt in his right mind for a long while, but Hannibal took any semblance of rationality or control and shattered it with a word. It should have been scarier. Will didn’t trust himself not to fall too far, to let Hannibal in too deep, to be so intertwined that they became inseparable. But he didn’t think he had much of a choice in the matter, if the way his heart raced was any indication.

Hannibal’s bedroom was as pristine as the rest of the house. Dark wood flooring and seafoam walls. The sheets were gray like storm clouds. Hannibal’s hair almost blended into them as it splayed out. His red suit was a starker contrast, like a splash of fresh blood. Will wanted it off. He knew he should have had some hesitance, but his hands betrayed his eagerness, pulling and tugging fabric until Hannibal’s blazer, vest, and tie were tossed at the foot of the bed. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt. Will’s breath left him at the sight of exposed chest between half-undone buttons.

Hannibal didn’t let him stare long, sitting up to slide his hands under Will’s shirt. The first brush of warm fingertips made Will shiver, and he flung the shirt away as fast as possible. His lips found Hannibal’s throat. They fell back onto the mattress when Will straddled Hannibal’s hips, virtually climbing on top of him.

It’d been years since Will had felt like this, since he was a teenager really. Every sensation was too sharp and not enough at the same time. His senses threatened to be overwhelmed by everything, and he still kept going. He wanted this. He didn’t let himself want much. Everything was for Jia or Abigail or Jack or Alana or Beverly. But he _wanted_.

His teeth dragged down Hannibal’s neck. The effect was a full-body shiver and a groan that went straight to Will’s groin. He wondered what would happen if he actually bit down a moment before he went for it. It wasn’t hard enough to even leave a mark, but Hannibal’s breath left him in a rush. His nails dug into Will’s hips. The hardening line behind his pants grew.

Will mollified the bite with his tongue while grinding his hips down, reveling in how responsive Hannibal was. He wasn’t even particularly interested in his own pleasure. His desire compounded on taking Hannibal apart, cracking the careful and refined control. The man was impossibly beautiful while he unraveled. 

Delicious pain made Will dizzy when his head was bent back by the hand in his hair. Hannibal found his lips. A skillful tongue invaded Will’s mouth, drawing a moan from him. Hannibal shrugged out of his shirt while maintaining the kiss, and then he was pulling them further up the bed. Will’s hands fisted in the sheets as he pushed Hannibal down with his body.

Hannibal clutched Will’s bandaged hand, and their fingers intertwined automatically. The heat between their palms burned like a brand. Will knew that he’d be marked after tonight. He’d feel the ghost of Hannibal’s fingertips long after these hands stopped touching him. He’d hear the sharp breaths and stuttered moans in the silence of his house. He’d see the silver of Hannibal’s hair against these sheets behind closed eyes.

And it’d haunt him.

Whatever was hidden behind the veil would kill him—Will was sure of it. Hannibal would break him worse than anything Jack could do. Because Will would let him. Because he’d already fallen this far. Because the water was rushing up to meet him now.

Will pulled away to stare into maroon eyes that held more darkness than they let on. Their attention was fixed on him, focused singularly. It was the most vulnerable and open Will had ever seen. The hunger that defined Hannibal was bared in its entirety, and it was ravenous for Will. It had form, teeth, promise. Nothing cavernous about it. It was voracious in the way that black holes were, pulling in light and matter to add to itself.

It’d hurt so badly when Will hit the bottom.

He pulled Hannibal’s pants off and shucked his own, leaving them naked. Hannibal flipped them, so he was stretched over Will and bearing down with his full weight. It might have been intimidating if Will wasn’t so sure that he could get Hannibal to do almost anything with a simple “please.” As it was, he let Hannibal settle between his thighs and kiss the air from his lungs.

The lack of fabric between them was maddening. Every brush of their cocks together stole more of Will’s coherent thought until he was just pleading—for what, he didn’t know. Relief? More? Both? He didn’t let himself think too much and got lost in trailing his fingertips over the ridges of muscle over Hannibal’s sides.

One roll of their hips pushed Hannibal’s cock against Will’s ass. Hannibal must have expected some kind of adjustment because he moved to pull away, but Will ground back. A choked sound escaped Hannibal. The anticipation that came with that response made Will’s heart beat against his sternum. Hannibal’s eyes were bright, knowing. He ducked his head to press his lips to Will’s ear.

“May I?” he virtually purred.

Will could hardly refuse. “Please.”

Hannibal reached to his nightstand for a plastic bottle. He slicked his fingers with the same ease he handled kitchen knives. Chef’s hands. Surgeon’s hands.

_See?_

Will let Hannibal in. The first finger found that bundle of nerves around Will’s prostate easily. Electric pulses shot through him, stealing away whatever sapient thought threatened to breach the surface of his mind. By the time Hannibal added a second finger, Will was shaking with his hands tangled in the sheets. 

Addicting. 

Hannibal was definitely a hazard for overdosing.

There wasn’t anything said when Hannibal reached back into the nightstand for a condom. He just tore it open and slid it over his cock. The action seemed like establishing control, but Will was keenly aware of Hannibal’s desperation. It was reflected in Will. Every nerve in his body was alive with need, seeking more and more. Hunger.

_See?_

Will held his breath while Hannibal eased into him. It was an invasion, and it wasn’t. It was too much, and not enough. Will’s heart thundered in his ears by the time their hips met. He was going to come embarrassingly fast, his hand being his only companion for over four years, but Hannibal seemed content to take things slow.

He pressed little kisses to Will’s neck and face. When he finally slotted their lips together, his hips had just started to move. Pleasure curled at the base of Will’s spine with every languid thrust. Hannibal reached between them to stroke Will, and the onslaught passed over Will like a tidal wave of sensation. 

They kissed until neither of them could hold the contact, breath coming too harshly. The air between them was hot with their effort. Hannibal made no indication that he intended to go any faster than the slow draw he’d established. It wasn’t enough. Will could be kept indefinitely on the edge like this, and maybe that was what Hannibal wanted. But an inquisitive look up saw far less wicked intentions for once. The chords of Hannibal’s neck strained against his skin. He was feeling every inch of Will and holding onto his control by a thread.

Something in Will snapped.

He flipped them over and settled onto Hannibal easily. His teeth found the flesh of Hannibal’s shoulder and clamped down. Hannibal’s moan filled the room. Will moved his hips faster and harder, needing more. The bed creaked. Nails dug into Will’s shoulder blades, encouraging and urgent.

Will’s cry was muffled by the flesh between his teeth when he came. He squeezed his eyes shut against the intensity of his climax rolling through his limbs. Hannibal took over, fucking him through the pulses until it was painful, but Will didn’t want to stop. He kept moving his hips until the thrusts grew uneven and Hannibal’s back arched off the bed. 

Only when they both stilled did Will loosen his jaw and release Hannibal’s shoulder. The indent of his teeth in the skin promised to leave a mark.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “I got carried away.”

Hannibal’s breath had just started slowing when he glanced at the bite mark. “Don’t apologize. I like it.”

Will collapsed beside Hannibal. His thighs were sore, as were his insides—evidence of what he’d allowed, asked for, craved. 

He stared at the mark he’d left. It was done. He’d taken the plunge. What kind of sharp rocks lay beneath the water’s surface?

He curled into the waiting warmth beside him, and Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will. This had to be enough, this moment where they were together in the quiet dark. The dream could shatter tomorrow. Will could let Hannibal shatter him tomorrow.

But not now.

_See?_

Not in the dark.

#

The bite mark was purple by morning. Hannibal prodded at the jagged ring while staring in the master bathroom mirror. He’d never put much significance to his body or the scars it carried, but he knew he’d feel the absence of this mark when it faded. It was a gift of sorts, a sign of possession. Will may have been on the receiving end of last night, but Hannibal wondered who had gotten inside of whom. The memories of the night were already catalogued away in the halls of his mind.

He pulled his shirt on and buttoned it. The collar concealed the mark easily. Will at least had the forethought not to bite anywhere obvious. Hannibal wasn’t sure he appreciated that.

Will was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, when Hannibal stepped into the bedroom. The posture wasn’t normal, and the stillness of Will’s body indicated deep thought.

“Will?” Hannibal prompted curiously as he came closer.

Will’s head snapped up. He met Hannibal’s eyes over his shoulder. There was something dark, almost sorrowful, in his gaze, but it quickly disappeared into neutrality. 

“Are you all right, Will?” Hannibal asked, concern and wariness battling for dominance in him.

Will stared down at the floor again. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Hannibal’s brows furrowed. As soon as he was near, Will shot to his feet and pulled Hannibal to him. Their lips met with heated desperation. The way Will clutched Hannibal’s shirt threatened to wrinkle the fabric, but Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to care.

Will broke the kiss, but he didn’t stray far. His head dropped to Hannibal’s neck. “I’m still having nightmares.”

“What about?” Hannibal asked as he automatically squeezed the base of Will’s head.

“A stag.” Will sighed, some of the tension leaving his body. “A thicket of antlers. Water rising. I always drown. I never fight that hard for air.”

Hannibal wondered at the symbology of those elements. Suicidal ideation seemed unlikely, given Will’s pathology, so it was something more in feeling out of his depth. That could have been any number of things in his life.

“I’m going to make breakfast and coffee,” Hannibal said. “Why don’t you take as long of a bath or shower as you like? Your class doesn’t start until ten, yes?”

Will sighed again. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” He straightened, and the pain in his eyes seemed worse than before.

“Will, is something else going on?” Hannibal asked. “Is it about last night?”

“No.” Will cupped Hannibal’s cheek. “No, last night was perfect.”

Then why did he sound so broken?

Hannibal didn’t think he’d get a straight answer just then, so he let Will head into the bathroom. 

Jia and Abigail were downstairs already when Hannibal came down. They were playing chess in the dining room. Abigail was, of course, losing. Jia bade him good morning right before he stepped into the doorway. Abigail echoed her a moment later. And then they were right back to their game.

Hannibal smiled at the sight before continuing to the kitchen. He started coffee in the french press before moving on to making eggs. An omelet with bell peppers and mushrooms seemed appropriate for the day.

Jia came in just as he was cutting up the mushroom. She set the chessboard on a countertop and climbed onto a stool. Hannibal glanced at her, but she spared him the effort of inquiring about her presence.

“Abigail got a call from Dr. Bloom,” she explained. “Care for a game?”

“Certainly.” Hannibal finished slicing the mushrooms while she set up the board, and then moved a pawn forward.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked as she moved a pawn to meet his.

Hannibal scraped the mushrooms into a pan of sizzling onions and garlic before moving another pawn. “I did. You?”

She hummed tersely and sent a knight forward. “I had nightmares. It was nice having Abigail with me, though.”

“You and your father share nightmares in common.” He moved a bishop out.

“We share lots of things in common, Dr. Lecter.” She moved the other knight.

He started pitting a bell pepper. “Like what?” He paused his work to send a knight forward.

She moved her bishop across the board. “You.”

He nudged his knight forward. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Sad.” She pushed her queen out. “You’re going to break his heart.”

Hannibal blinked. “How so?” He scrubbed out the bell pepper before returning to block her queen’s path to his knight with a pawn.

“Funny man,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, and pushed her knight forward. “He’s going to break your heart, too.”

“You sound very sure of that.” He moved his bishop to take her queen.

She seemed sad when she mumbled, “I am. Check.” She pushed her knight forward.

He had to move his king out of the way. “Is that of your own design?”

“Funny man,” she repeated quietly and pushed her other knight forward. “Checkmate.”

Will stepped in just as she slid off her stool. He crouched down and kissed her cheek. Her smile was strained, and she only mumbled something about checking on Abigail before leaving.

Hannibal didn’t dwell long on the odd conversation as Will kissed his cheek before helping himself to the coffee. There was still something tense in the air, but it was less harsh, more resigned. Inevitable.

“She beat you again?” Will prompted with a glance at the chessboard.

Hannibal nodded and started pitting another bell pepper. “Quite quickly this time, too. I think my mind is slipping.”

Will arched a brow as he took a sip from the mug he’d commandeered. “She’s not bad at emotional distraction as well. Are you distracted, Doctor?”

The title spilled off Will’s lips like a lewd endearment. 

“She’s convinced I’m going to break your heart,” Hannibal said and scrubbed out the pepper. “And you’ll break mine.”

Will’s expression abruptly fell. “Did she say anything else?”

Hannibal shrugged, still trying to parse out all of the girl’s double meanings. “Not really. She keeps calling me a ‘funny man.’ I’m not sure if it’s an endearment or insult.”

“Both, knowing her.” Will sipped his coffee, but the storm in his eyes had returned. He was breathing faster. “I’ll have to chat with her later.”

Hannibal’s hands were slower than they should have been while he cut through a pepper. He didn’t know what was going on, what web he’d been caught in, but something wasn’t right. The knife’s edge glinted in the light as he sliced through the pepper’s skin.

“I don’t mind it,” he said easily. “How are you feeling? Did you have a nice bath?”

“Shower, and yes. Your water pressure is heavenly.” Will’s hands shook around his mug. He padded closer with unhurried steps and pressed his face to Hannibal’s shoulder, to the place he'd left his mark. The casual affection was almost enough to ease Hannibal’s suspicions. Almost.

“I’m going to see what the girls are up to,” he murmured before leaving the kitchen.

Hannibal finished chopping the peppers. He was contemplating his next course of action when he heard soft steps stop outside the kitchen doorway. It was Jia, of course, leaning against the wall. Her lips were tight with sorrow, and he wondered why she’d betrayed him if it distressed her so much.

“You promised you wouldn't tell him,” he said, not sure if he was angry or disappointed or hurt. The feelings all sat foreign and uncomfortable under his skin.

She stood from the wall and felt along it while she headed down the hallway. “I didn’t, Dr. Lecter. You did.”

Hannibal felt like the overwhelmed king who’d spent too much time watching the enemy queen to notice the knight that’d snuck past his lines. He knew he should've killed Jia. He still wasn't sure he could 

Abigail trotted down the stairs, phone in hand, just as the click of the front door shutting echoed through the hallway. “Where are Will and Jia?” she asked.

Hannibal smiled tightly. “They couldn’t stay for breakfast.”

#

One, two, three, four, five…

One, two, three, four, five…

One, two, three, four, five…

Will had to count every breath to stop himself from hyperventilating while he drove.

_See?_

He’d seen. He’d had every opportunity.

_See?_

One, two, three, four, five…

Jia was silent and tense beside him. She’d planned for this. He knew she had. But why now? Why couldn’t she have told him before last night, before he’d fallen in too deep?

“Because you would have killed him,” she said, as if reading his mind. “You still might.”

Will’s knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel. The bandaged ones burned from the strain. “You were protecting him!” he hissed incredulously. “Jia, he—”

“He saved my life!”

He was too stunned to hear her raise her voice to respond. She never yelled and didn’t like to hear others yell. It triggered panic attacks.

“He saved my life,” she repeated, softer. “I know what he is, but he saved my life. He let me have a real home and a real dad. I couldn’t let you kill him. I’m not sure I haven’t killed him.”

There were so many things Will wanted to say. The Ripper had murdered so many people. Whatever her sense of loyalty, it wasn’t worth all of them. It couldn’t be worth all of them. It shouldn’t. 

But she was a gift—Hannibal’s gift.

Will jerked the car to the side of the road and stumbled out into the snow. Barren trees surrounded him, branches like broken and decaying antlers. The cold couldn’t touch him, couldn’t sink into his skin. An unnatural numbness had settled into his body, leaving him empty. He fell to his knees and tried to breathe.

He’d let Hannibal weave into his life, into his family. He’d let him in. He’d wanted it. 

The tears weren’t unexpected. Will didn’t let them fall as he hunched over, his hands disappearing into the snow. He’d always feared what lay beyond Hannibal’s veil, hadn’t wanted to see the truth of it, but he had known, hadn’t he? Elegant. Graceful. Charming. Meticulous. Hungry. He’d described the Ripper with the same terms. 

It was too much. The lies upon lies upon lies. The manipulations. The _betrayal._

But not all of it was a lie. Will saw too much for that. Hannibal wanted him, as a friend and partner and lover. That’d been real, and it hurt so much more to know the truth of it. In their bond was the promise of something good. It was an end to their chronic loneliness. They could see each other fully and understand, deeper than a concept in a textbook. Will didn’t want to see that, didn’t want to face everything it meant. 

He let his tears flow finally.

And he mourned the shards of the dream, the hope he’d never wanted, and the blindness Jia had gifted him.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WOULD LIKE TO PREFACE THIS CHAPTER WITH THE REMINDER THAT I ONLY WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS.

The young woman was brunette, just shy of nineteen, and blue-eyed. It was easy enough to steal her from her front porch on a Friday night when she was returning home late. He mounted her body on an array of antlers and took her liver for later consumption. Doing this a third time might have made it boring, if he wasn’t so thrilled at the thought of what it’d do to Will. The man’s anger was gorgeous.

It’d kill him, too, strike him in a way nothing else could. Hannibal felt something akin to guilt at that. He found suffering a lovely sight more often than not, but it was different with Will. The appreciation was still there, of course. It was just tainted.

Jia would feel the pain, too. He didn’t feel badly about that.

And this was necessary. His own failsafe. His knight.

#

They found Lucinda Kemp on Saturday at 7:21am, just outside the hospital. Her body hung suspended between two thickets of antlers. Blood darkened with time decorated the pale tines impaling her body. The snow beneath her was bright red. She looked like Abigail because of course she would. That was the MO for Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and the copycat was nothing if not precise in his replications.

Will didn’t need to recreate the mindset of the killer. He just stared at the girl’s pale figure between barren trees and imagined Hannibal carefully placing each element of his kill out for display—for Will. The message was clear. Hannibal was covering his tracks now the he was known, and he was prepared to destroy everything they had in order to keep his freedom, even Abigail. 

Jack was already talking over Will’s shoulder about arresting Abigail. She kept disappearing over the hospital walls, and her roommate couldn’t confirm that she hadn’t snuck out again last night. The copycat had killed in Minnesota, and it was suddenly here, displayed exactly where Abigail resided, not long after the discovery of Nicholas Boyle. Of course Jack had to arrest her. Of course.

Will dimly heard Jack calling for him when he wound through the mass of FBI agents toward his car. Everything sounded far away beyond the loud beat of Will’s heart. His anger rivaled that of what he’d felt when Jia had been assaulted by a teacher, but this was so, so much worse. Because it was Hannibal. Hannibal, who’d promised to protect Abigail. Hannibal, who’d deemed him and Will her new fathers. Hannibal, who’d let her trust him.

Will didn’t know what he was going to do when he got to Hannibal’s house. He just let himself in with a hand on his gun. Hannibal seemed to have just returned from somewhere, his coat still on while he headed for the fridge in his kitchen. His hand froze on the handle as he took a breath. He turned his head slightly while Will came up behind him.

“You have an unfortunate aftershave,” Hannibal commented as he slowly turned to face Will. “Too long in the bottle.”

Will imagined decorating the walls of the kitchen with Hannibal’s blood. “Jack’s arresting Abigail.”

Hannibal’s expression was cool and unaffected, but the darkness in his eyes was unmistakable. “Whatever for?”

“Feigning ignorance is rude, Dr. Lecter.” Will raised his gun. “You promised to protect her.”

“And I will continue to do so. What are you going to do, Will?” The challenge was there in his eyes, daring Will to do his part.

The trigger burned against Will’s finger. “I should kill you.”

Hannibal kept his gaze steady. “You’ve given that some thought. Would it feel good to kill me?”

“You wanted me to tame my demons, Doctor—embrace my nature. I’m just following the urges I kept down for so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hannibal responded easily. “How would killing me make you feel?”

Will cocked the gun, making Hannibal flinch. “Righteous.”

Hannibal’s expression darkened. “Aren’t you curious, Will? Why you? Why Abigail? Why Jia?”

“No, I know.” Will’s chest ached with the weight of the knowledge he hadn’t wanted to see. “I know why it had to be me. Abigail and Jia were just your best access. Is that how Miriam Lass found you? Did she get in your space? Or did you make a mistake? You wouldn’t make the same one twice, so what were you banking on with Jia? Her word? Her loyalty?”

Hannibal’s jaw set. “If I’m not the Ripper, you murder an innocent man.”

And Jia wouldn’t testify against Hannibal. Will was sure of that.

“If I am the Ripper,” Hannibal continued, “and you kill me, who will answer your questions? Don’t you want to know how this ends?”

Will’s smile felt foreign on his own lips, drawn up from the darkness he’d kept tight control over for years. “Did it feel good to get inside me?” he asked, voice too calm to be his own. “Did it feel good to invade me and my life and then set fire to it? Does it feel good watching me burn?”

There was the briefest flicker of pain and hunger in Hannibal’s eyes. He hid it quickly, but Will saw it all the same. And he took a step forward. Hannibal lurched back into the fridge and turned his face away as the gun pressed to his temple. His eyes shut, as if he were just waiting for the end, resigned to his fate. It occurred then to Will that Hannibal didn’t know how this ended either. Maybe it would right here and now, with Hannibal’s brain splattered over his kitchen. That would’ve been easy. The world would have been a safer place for it.

Well, Will didn’t really care about the world being a safer place, didn’t think it was possible, if he were honest with himself. That it wasn’t safe gave him something to do with his life. He chained the monsters away because he was a better monster, and they were too sloppy to get away from him. But not Hannibal. No, Hannibal had never been sloppy. Sometimes he played riskier strategies to see what would happen, but even that was deliberate. 

Will glanced at the shoulder with the bite mark he’d left. That’d felt intimate, possessive. It wasn’t enough to shoot Hannibal. Will wanted to take him apart first, like he’d been taken apart. Hannibal needed to feel the pain in his blood and bones, as impossible to escape as his shadow. He needed to weep with the force of his agony. He needed to want it.

Will walked out.

The cold air felt good on his skin. He breathed it in deeply as he holstered his gun and headed for his car. His phone was sitting in a cupholder behind the drive stick. Eighteen missed phone calls from Jack. There were five more text messages, all telling Will to call back. Well, Will had time.

“Where the hell did you go?” Jack demanded after the first ring.

Will started driving. “Abigail isn’t the copycat. Someone wants to make her look like the copycat, someone with FBI resources.”

Jack was silent a long moment. “That’s a pretty bold claim, Will. Can you back it up?”

“Not yet.” Will drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking of his next steps.

He knew what Hannibal wanted more than anything, and Will wasn’t above making himself bait. Besides, he didn’t want anyone but himself to be the one to hurt Hannibal. That was his honor and right.

Jack sighed. “Where are you?”

Will briefly considered how to answer. “I went to see Dr. Lecter.” Not a lie.

“What for?”

“Had to get something clear for myself.” He flicked the safety on his gun. “I’m heading to the BAU now.”

“Let me know when you get here.” The line clicked out of connection.

Will set his phone on the passenger seat and smiled.

#

Hannibal stood in the heavy silence of his kitchen, his heart beating as fast as it had when Will had laid in his bed. He’d been fully prepared to die just now, expected it even. Abigail was sacred to Will in the same way Jia was sacred. They were his charges, his to protect, his to nurture. Any threat to Abigail was one that needed to be eliminated. Hannibal had known that, but he’d wanted to test the strength of Will’s affections—at great risk to himself.

What he hadn’t expected was the strength of Will’s scorn. He’d seen it with dazzling clarity. Storms were often compared to the wrath of God, and Will’s eyes had held lightning in them, with the promise of winds that could rip ancient trees from the earth. Hannibal had seen a glimpse of that darkness Will kept locked away and out of sight. But nothing like that. Nothing so...untamed.

Hannibal had underestimated just how fierce and developed Will’s beast truly was. There wasn’t much cultivation that needed to happen in that regard, so much as freedom, but Hannibal also didn’t know if he wanted that beast to be free while its ire was directed at him. Had he put his king directly in the enemy queen’s path? Will had once said that Hannibal’s hunger had form and teeth. He’d neglected to mention that his scorn had claws and fangs all its own already, and worse, it could change shape. Will could be whatever or whoever he needed to be to accomplish his goals.

He was going to break Hannibal.

That was a fact, unavoidable and unyielding. The prospect of it left a pit of dread in Hannibal’s gut, but with it also came a deeper craving, a kind of dark anticipation, to bask in the glorious, feral violence that was Will. He was truly beautiful in his wrath, in the same way the darkest pits of the ocean were beautiful, in the same way the dark ash of volcanic eruptions were beautiful, in the same way the dark of a moonless night was beautiful. 

Beautiful. Terrifying. Powerful.

His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled it out and was unsurprised to find Abigail’s number on the screen.

“I heard what happened,” he answered. “Are you all right, Abigail?”

Her voice was strong when she replied. “I’m fine, but this wasn’t me. Someone is trying to frame me.”

Jia really had bolstered Abigail’s will to sound so offended instead of afraid. What would Jia do once she heard Abigail had been arrested? She didn’t seem the type to just wait and hope. She was too smart for that.

“Will and I are working on it,” Hannibal said, not lying. He was holding Abigail’s life hostage, but he had no intention of letting her rot in a cell if Will returned to his side. Will was angry now. He would be for a while. One way or another, though, he’d have to work with Hannibal to free Abigail. That was the cost of Hannibal’s assistance.

“Does Will think I did it?” Abigail asked. “If he thinks—”

“I’m quite confident that he doesn’t think you’re responsible. He’s going to figure out who is.” Hannibal tapped his fingers on a countertop. “How much time do you have to speak?”

“A minute maybe.” She sounded irritated about that.

He smiled. “You survived the monsters once, Abigail. You can survive them again.”

Her smile was audible when she said, “Yes, I can.”

They discussed what would probably happen over the next couple days, with lawyers and legal proceedings. He barely got in a piece of advice to not talk at all unless with a lawyer before she had to hang up. But he wasn’t worried. Will would make sure she got out of this just fine. Hannibal had never been more certain of anything.

He got started on heating lunch. It was leftover fish and rice from the night before, and the fish would wilt in a microwave. He’d just laid it in a pan when his phone rang again. He was surprised by the caller this time.

“Ms. Jia,” he greeted as pleasantly as he could. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Have you heard from my dad recently?” she asked, an edge of anxiety to her voice.

His brows furrowed. “He left my home just a few minutes ago.”

The line was quiet a long moment. “So he let you live.”

“Were you worried he wouldn’t?” He managed to keep the bitterness from his voice. 

“I was, but I thought he’d love you too much to kill you. Or...at least he’d want to make you suffer for letting him love you.” She took a breath. “A life for a life, Dr. Lecter. You gave me mine. I gave you my dad’s. Even Steven.”

He found whatever resentment he had for the girl melt in an instant. “I suppose so. I think I may be grateful for the exchange, if your father doesn’t kill me.”

“The people closest to us have the greatest ability to hurt us, Dr. Lecter. That is the gift we give them.” She spoke softly, almost ruefully. “That’s why you broke his heart, and he’s going to break yours.”

“You think he hasn’t already?”

“You wouldn’t let him yet, Dr. Lecter.”

The phrasing of her statement brought his brows up. “‘Let him yet?’”

“You love him.” She sounded sad as she said it. “People think I’m nice, Dr. Lecter, because I make them think that. I know a lot of words and how to use them, but I’m not nice, am I? People think Dad’s empathy makes him kind, but he’s not.”

“And what is he?” Hannibal urged, his heart picking up.

“Vindictive.” Her voice got even softer, making Hannibal strain to hear her next words. “He punishes...like you. What you punish is just different.”

Hannibal shivered at the thought of that. Will did punish, didn’t he? He scorned those sloppy enough to get caught, and he punished them for it. And not only that, he had a way of pinpointing others’ weaknesses. Did he take pleasure in exploiting them? Did he delight in the humiliation of their sins?

“He’s going to hurt you, Dr. Lecter,” Jia continued. “He’s going to make you cry like you made him cry.”

An odd feeling snuck up Hannibal’s throat at the image of Will crying. It would have been a pretty sight, but the appreciation of it wasn’t quite satisfying. 

_ Did it feel good to get inside me? Did it feel good to invade me and my life and then set fire to it? Does it feel good watching me burn? _

No, it didn’t, and that was unexpected. It felt hollow—pain inflicted for the wrong reasons. Pointless. Empty. It rested on Will like a bruise, slow to heal and tender.

“Why did you call me, Jia?” Hannibal asked. “Was it just to warn me?”

She was slow to respond. “No, I called because my dad just texted me that he’s not coming home tonight, and I thought it might be because he was planning to get rid of your body.”

So that was why she called him specifically. 

“I assure you, darling girl,” he said, “that I’m quite alive and will likely continue to be for at least another day. Your father is probably just busy with work.”

“Ah, right. Abigail.” She hummed and the dim sound of her finger tapping drifted through the receiver. “I was worried when I heard. I was pretty sure Dad would kill you for that.”

Very nearly. Hannibal could still feel the cold metal of the gun at his temple. “I don’t think he could leave you to the hands of CPS by getting arrested.”

“Probably, but I think his main reason for not killing you has nothing to do with me.” The tapping stopped. “I should go. Alana’s going to be done cooking soon. Be careful, Dr. Lecter.”

She hung up, and he stared at his phone a moment.

He didn’t doubt her words. Will would almost certainly be looking for some kind of retribution. The only thing Hannibal wasn’t sure of was the mechanism. Would Will try to kill him? Arrest him? Something else? Hannibal wasn’t going to let his life or his freedom be stolen if he could help it, and he had until Abigail was released to figure out how to mollify Will’s ire.

If Will wanted to punish him in the meantime, then he could learn to enjoy the pain.

#

Lucinda Kemp lay on a metal table in the morgue. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and frost still clung to her hair. Zeller and Price were going on about wound patterns and cause of death, but Will didn’t hear it. Didn’t need to. The wound pattern was consistent with Marissa Schurr and Cassie Boyle. It had to be. The only people listening in the room were Jack and Beverly. They were looking at the evidence and quickly coming to the conclusion that Abigail had developed a slightly different MO from her father, but she was copying him, a killer with a mentor in the family. Well, that last part still wasn’t untrue, was it?

“Are you even listening, Will?” Jack asked abruptly, with a glare at Will over Lucinda’s body.

“No,” Will admitted unapologetically. “Abigail resents her father and what he did. She wouldn’t want to emulate him.”

Jack grimaced. “Well, the copycat was in Minnesota, and now they’re in Baltimore. In all instances, Abigail was nearby.”

How convenient. 

Will ran a hand down his face. “No, this killer is trying to cover his tracks by copying how other murderers display their kills...but not exactly how.” The image of Hannibal in the back of an ambulance flashed across his eyes. “Devon Silvestri didn’t take responsibility for all those murders.”

Jack’s brows climbed his forehead. “You said those were Ripper murders. Now they’re the copycat?”

“Could be one and the same.” Will knew how he sounded without evidence, but he at least needed to plant the idea in everyone’s mind.

Jack was quiet a moment, seeming to struggle with the connection. “Wait a minute. Are you saying that Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ copycat is the Ripper?”

All the eyes in the room went to Will. He couldn’t accuse Hannibal yet. They weren’t ready for that, not while he didn’t have any evidence, but he could sow the seeds and then see what they grew. 

“I’m not discounting it,” Will said.

Jack let out a frustrated breath. “You said Nicholas Boyle was the copycat. His blood was on one of the victims. Nicholas Boyle is dead.”

Will resisted rolling his eyes and instead gestured to the dead body between them. “Well, then he isn’t the copycat, is he?”

“You’re not making a good case for Abigail not being the copycat, Will. Are you sure you’re over the encephalitis?”

“Oh, I’m seeing very clearly, Jack.” Too clearly.

Beverly looked as concerned as Jack now. “Will, we caught Devon Silvestri with his hand around a guy’s kidney,” she pointed out. “We have no way of confirming the Ripper was involved at all. Silvestri could’ve lied about the unaccounted bodies, and Nicholas Boyle’s blood was found on Marissa Schurr’s teeth.”

“So what?” Will shot back, harsher than he meant to be.

“You’re just going to ignore that?” she asked incredulously.

He could feel his patience running between his fingers like sand. “Boyle’s dead, and I told all of you that some of those harvested bodies were the Ripper’s. If I factor everything into a psychological profile, it matches up pretty neatly with the Ripper’s.”

The room was silent for a long moment. Price was the one to break it.

“If what you’re saying is true,” he said hesitantly, “that means the Ripper was close enough to the bureau to know the specifics of Silvestri’s kills. He replicated them exactly. We didn’t release that information to the press.”

The next silence stretched out. Will could almost taste it, sour and sweet all at once. He savored it for as long as he could.

“It could be someone in the bureau,” Beverly said, something seeming to connect in her mind. “Or with the police, someone who has access to the crimes and to the investigations.”

“They might know Abigail’s profile, too,” Zeller added.

Price nodded. “It was common knowledge that she was sneaking out of the hospital. It’d be easy to pin anything on her, and she’s convenient to frame for the copycat. But...why? What’s the Ripper after? Is it personal?”

“Well, if it wasn’t before,” Will muttered, “it is now.”

Jack looked the most troubled of all of them, the lines of his face deep and contorted. “The Ripper called me, used Miriam’s voice, and left me her arm. I’d say anything with him is pretty damn personal.”

“He wants to flaunt,” Will said. “He wants to gloat. All of this is theatre to confuse us. Sleight of hand.”

Beverly waved a hand. “Wait, wait. Hold on,” she said. “This is all speculation. If we look at the evidence, it still points to Abigail.”

Will scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to find anything that points away from her or points toward the Ripper. He’s too good for that.”

“You seem awfully convinced of this, Will,” Jack commented, “and historically, you’re not objective when it comes to Abigail. Is that affecting your insight?”

“Abigail is ninety pounds sopping wet, Jack,” Will said tiredly. “You think she carried a full grown woman and mounted her on antlers between two trees, without leaving a shred of evidence on the body or herself, and then returned to her room unnoticed? Not to mention how she got the antlers and the tools to mount them on the trees. Even if I thought she was capable of that kind of violence, I would have to wonder just how she could physically pull it off—unless she had help.”

Jack couldn’t argue with that. “Well, we can’t just throw baseless theories out in court. We need something substantial.”

Will glanced down at Lucinda Kemp. Hannibal wasn’t sloppy. There’d be nothing on her that pointed to him and probably nothing to condemn Abigail definitively either. He wasn’t trying to get her locked away, after all. He was just holding her hostage, something to threaten Will with.

The whole thing was comical almost. A laugh nearly snuck up Will’s throat at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. He’d been in plenty of messy breakups, but this one had to take the cake. At least it wasn’t boring. Nothing with Hannibal ever was.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the song "Branches" by Jome:
> 
> https://youtu.be/AjLxtmxXm_k

Hannibal was having trouble focusing, which was not something he had much familiarity with. It was like a fever clouding his vision and leaving him leaden. Will had become...unpredictable. That was probably intentional on his part. To anyone else, he might have seemed unhinged, a broken man lashing out, but Hannibal knew better. Will wasn’t sloppy. Everything he did from the time he decided not to pull the trigger was deliberate, a chess move that brought him closer to the precipice of some kind of end. Hannibal still wasn’t sure if Will meant to be his destruction or salvation. Maybe both.

Margot stepped away from the window, bringing Hannibal’s attention back to her. She was describing Mason’s abuses again and her failed attempt to stop them, which resulted in the broken arm now tucked into a sling.

“You are no more at fault for what happened to you,” Hannibal said when she’d finished, “than if you had been bitten by a mad dog.”

Her eyes were sharp as she said, “Mad dogs are put down.”

“Is that what you hoped to accomplish when you attacked your brother?”

“Well, apparently, I went about ‘putting him down’ the wrong way.” Her words dripped with bitterness. “He’s still alive.”

Hannibal couldn’t help but see Will in the bloodthirst of her gaze. “Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good. What’s your relationship with him now? Has it changed?”

Her stare was dead and alive simultaneously. Her hope had long been buried, and the flowers growing upon the grave had thorns. “I think he thinks I’ve calmed down.”

“Have you?”

She took a breath. “Oh, I’m calm.”

“Are you going to try again?” he asked, curious to see if she’d succeed this time.

She managed to chuckle without smiling. Her heels clicked on the floor as she stepped toward the chair across from Hannibal, but didn’t sit. “This is where therapy gets a little tricky.”

He crossed his legs and met her gaze levelly. “It doesn’t have to be tricky.”

“I could confess to a murder. You can’t say a word.” She squared her shoulders. “I could’ve murdered someone this morning, and you can’t say a word. But if I’m planning to commit a murder…”

“I am ethically obliged to take action to prevent that murder.” He could find lots of ways around that, but Will would probably figure him out, just waiting for him to slip up. “But be that as it may, if there’s no one else to protect you, Margot, you have to protect yourself. It would have actually been more therapeutic if you had killed him.”

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. “You’re a bit of a funny therapist, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal didn’t wince at the word choice, but something cold ran through him. Will and Jia really had done a number on him. No one had thrown him so off-kilter for decades, and he’d been prepared for it, even welcomed it.

“I think I’m satisfied with my hour,” Margot continued. “Same time next week?”

He nodded. “As always. It’s been a pleasure, Margot.”

Her smile was icy. “Thank you, Dr. Lecter.” She showed herself out, the click of her heels disappearing into the outside world.

Hannibal sat in the silence of his office for a moment, a tiredness falling over him that he wasn’t sure what to do with. His thoughts were still fraught with Will, as they had been for weeks now, but instead of planning the next way to gain Will’s favor, he sat in the darkening discomfort of a fractured relationship. It was distracting. He came back to his mind palace over and over just to watch Will bloody his knuckles on Gideon. The ferocity in Will’s eyes the night they’d indulged in each other’s bodies. The coldness of Will’s words while he held a gun up.

Hannibal forced himself to stand and grab a bottle of wine from the cabinet by his desk. He poured a glass before sitting at his desk to review his notes. The work was rote enough that he didn’t have to think much, but eventually, he ran out of mindless tasks. So he started sketching. His pencil moved over the paper in barely conscious strokes. The picture that formed before him had eyes like an ocean tempest with soft curls over them.

He sighed and flipped the sketch over. His wine had barely touched his lips when a series of delicate knocks came at his door. The anticipation was immediate, and he almost resented his eagerness. Will was effective. Hannibal had to admit that.

It was dark outside by now, the only light in his office the desk lamp and some display lights over the bookcases. He flipped on one of the overhead lights as he went to open the door.

Will, of course, stood on the other side. He wore the salmon-colored shirt that complimented his skin and eyes. His hair had been cut and neatly slicked back, bringing one lovely curl over his brow. Hannibal’s heart picked up at the obvious care in appearance, but didn’t quite dare to believe it was for his benefit. Will would exploit that.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal greeted, letting surprise seep into his voice. 

Will met his eyes directly. “May I come in?”

Hannibal was keenly aware that they weren’t in a public space with witnesses. “Do you intend to point a gun at me again?”

Will chuckled as he stepped closer. “Not tonight.” His stride didn’t slow as he passed Hannibal, coming into the office without further preamble or invitation.

Hannibal let his eyes roam over Will’s figure before closing the door, and when he breathed in, the smell of that terrible aftershave filled his senses. It was growing on him.

“Are you expecting someone?” Will asked as he sauntered into the center of the room.

Hannibal watched him carefully, unsure at the direction this would go. “Only you.”

Will seemed relaxed and unsurprised by the admission. “Kept my standing appointment open?”

Hannibal checked his watch, though he didn’t need to. “And you’re right on time.”

Silence followed the statement while Will stared up at the mezzanine, counting books maybe, but maybe not. The habit, meant to soothe stress, seemed unnecessary while Will was relaxed, at ease in a space that wasn’t his and yet was at the same time.

He breathed in and out. “I have to deal with you,” he said, almost too softly to hear. “And my feelings about you. I think it’s best if I do that directly.”

“First you have to grieve for what is lost and what has changed.” Hannibal padded closer, but not too close. 

“I’ve changed. You’ve changed me.” Will half-turned toward him, peering over a shoulder but not quite making eye contact. “Jia changed me.”

Hannibal had yet to see if the change fit his interests or not. “What we had is over. What do you intend to do now?”

Will stared at the wall. “Jia was compelled to protect you. She owed her life. She had to take it back...at the exchange of mine.”

“And how will you take your life back?” Hannibal asked, seeing only a few options for that. 

Will turned, so he faced Hannibal squarely. “I’d like to resume my therapy.” He didn’t wait for Hannibal’s reply before sitting in his usual chair.

Hannibal glanced at the scalpel on his desk used to sharpen his pencils, but then thought better of it and sat in his chair. A million unknowns sat across from him, hidden behind a stern face and eyes that saw too much.

“Where shall we—?” Hannibal started.

“I was betrayed by someone I trusted,” Will interrupted, not harshly. His tone was calm and neutral.

Hannibal braced to hear how he’d hurt Will, but it proved unnecessary.

“She’s the axis my world spins around,” Will continued. “My own daughter sold my soul to the Devil.”

“How does that make you feel?” Hannibal asked because it seemed like the thing to do, what was expected of him.

Will had a small smile. “Impressed. I never expected it from her—you certainly, but not her.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve forgiven her then.”

“Can I blame a ten-year-old her sins in taking on the Ripper?” Will clasped his hands over a leg. “I’ve committed worse sins in the name of justice. She was just trying to survive.”

Hannibal could appreciate the sentiment. “It still must sting though. You put your trust in someone you loved, and they betrayed you.”

Will’s eyes were dark as a slow smile spread his lips. “Love is such an odd thing, isn’t it? Humans seem obsessed with it. We have love stories going back to the earliest written records, and it’s still so mysterious. How is it that such a small chemical response in the brain can consume an entire species? Empires have risen and fallen because of love.”

He fell quiet, expression sobering while he stared toward the windows, but Hannibal sensed he had more to say.

“‘Grieve for what is lost and what has changed,’” Will murmured. “I don’t know what I’m more upset about: that you think you get to feel bad about what you did or that you only feel bad because what you did took me from you.” His gaze was cold. “Are you grieving, Hannibal? Do you feel my absence?”

Hannibal wouldn’t admit to feeling the hollowness in the empty spaces of his house, how it felt dead now without life to fill it. “Do you want me to suffer, Will?”

The feral glow in Will’s eyes was borderline manic. “I want you, Dr. Lecter, to feel the agony of compassion.”

A daunting undertaking, but not impossible, if Hannibal’s recent encounters with emotion were anything to go by.

“Jia was very young when she met the Ripper,” Hannibal said carefully. “You can’t believe that—”

“Stop right there.” Will still didn’t speak harshly, but his voice held authority. “You may have to pretend, but I don’t.”

So Will wasn’t going to be convinced of anything. They were past that. 

“No, you don’t,” Hannibal conceded. “Not with me.”

“I don’t expect you to admit anything. You can’t. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter.” Will’s gaze was hard. “Don’t lie to me.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched, thrilled to see such passion laid bare. “Will you return the courtesy?” When Will didn’t respond, he continued, “Why have you resumed your therapy?”

Will leaned back in his chair. “Can’t just talk to any psychiatrist about what’s kicking around my head.”

“Do you fantasize about killing me?” Hannibal suspected the answer, but he needed to ask anyway.

“Yes,” Will admitted easily.

Hannibal tilted his head curiously. “Tell me. How would you do it?”

The hunger in Will’s eyes rivaled Hannibal’s own. “With my hands.”

How very...personal. 

The hunger grew in Will’s eyes as he said, “I discovered a truth about myself when we got Jia’s teacher arrested.”

Hannibal remembered the night fondly. “That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”

Will sounded breathless when he said, “Yes.”

That didn’t bode well. “I need to know if you’re going to try to kill me, Will.”

The pupils of Will’s eyes dilated as he imagined a scene Hannibal could only guess was homicidal in nature. “I don’t want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter—not now that I finally find you interesting.”

Hannibal didn’t see anything to suggest Will was lying. He probably wouldn’t ever again. Will could be anyone, take any skill in their mindset, and he weaponized it. Who sat in the chair? Some killer forgotten by time? A colleague or friend?

“But you want to punish me,” Hannibal observed. “How would you try to punish me?”

Will cocked a brow. “I don’t need to try, Dr. Lecter. You’re going to let me.”

Hannibal was dimly aware that he shouldn’t feel heat from the words or the electric thrill of anticipation. “You sound very sure of that.”

“I was sure of it before I marked you.” Will’s smile showed teeth. “Has it healed yet?”

The vulnerability Hannibal felt then was almost painful. “No.”

Will hummed, his smile widening. “Good.” He stood. “Will you have dinner with me next week? I’ll provide the meat.”

Hannibal knew he should refuse, but what he said was, “Certainly. My place or yours?”

“Mine. I’ll text you.” He headed for the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob. “And bring a change of clothes.”

Hannibal was getting emotional whiplash, which was precisely what Will wanted, but he didn’t see a way to avoid that. 

_ The people closest to us have the greatest ability to hurt us, Dr. Lecter. That is the gift we give them. _

Jia held wisdom far beyond her years. She must have foreseen this, how it would all play out—the players on her chess board laid out exactly as intended. That was her power, her monster. All of life was a narrative she had to manipulate in order to feel safe and to protect the ones she loved. Had she observed his fascination with her father turning into something deeper? Had she nurtured Will’s blooming vulnerability? Had she nudged them together with the knowledge that she’d prevented them from destroying each other? 

Anyone else Hannibal would have killed once they discovered his identity, but he was too invested in Will now, too enamored. It seemed Will had a similar dilemma. So where did they go from here? Will either had to accept Hannibal for everything he was or reject him, and Hannibal didn’t know which way they’d go. Will probably didn’t either. 

_ That is the gift we give them. _

Hannibal gave Will the power to hurt him, and if Will knew anything, it was how to weaponize the mind. He and his daughter were good at that.

“Good night, Dr. Lecter,” Will said as he shut the door behind himself.

Hannibal stared at the empty chair across from him.

#

She sat stiff and straight-backed on the stand, looking very much like Hannibal. He must have taught her that. Her poise wasn't hiding fear, as some might expect of an eighteen-year-old. It hid anger. She was furious, at being accused, at being framed, at the indignity of it all. Gone was the timid girl who'd been trying her hardest to hide and hope the monsters wouldn't find her. She was going to face them head on now.

Will sat from the benches of the courtroom. Hannibal, of course, sat beside him. He hadn't asked before sitting or even attempted to put distance between them, which suited Will just fine. They could be civil. Will still had every intention of making Hannibal suffer, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the journey. As it was, he kept touching his tongue to the top of his mouth, making soft popping sounds that he knew Hannibal hated and was the only one close enough to hear it. Chewing sounds in general could make him twitch. 

The prosecution's lawyer was grilling Abigail who gave terse, but polite replies that revealed only what she wanted. Hannibal probably wasn't hearing a word of it. His hands were balled into fists in his lap. He kept glancing at Will out the corner of his eye. Will didn't smile, but he did sometimes take long pauses to lure Hannibal into a sense of security, only to start the mouth sounds again. 

"Did you suspect, Ms. Hobbs," the lawyer was saying, "what your father was doing?"

Abigail's lawyer opened her mouth, presumably to make an objection, but Abigail spoke over her, voice strong and clear.

"As I said to the FBI, I was not aware of my father's true nature, least of all his murders, until he had a knife to my throat." She touched the scar on the side of her neck, drawing the whole room's eyes toward it. A clever tactic to garner sympathy. Will couldn't remember the last time she'd worn a scarf to conceal her scar. Maybe not since that first night she stayed at his house.

Her eyes found Will and Hannibal. The smile didn’t show on her lips—that would’ve been inappropriate in court—but it was in her eyes. She wanted them to see her, see what she could do.

Pride, deep and warm, lit in Will’s chest. She was coming into her own power, a commanding presence in the room rather than a shadow hiding and waiting. Was that Hannibal's influence? Will's? Jia's? A combination? It didn't really matter. She stood on her own two feet now, charging her own path.

Will glanced over at Hannibal. He wasn't surprised to find pride reflected in Hannibal's eyes, but he was surprised at the swell of longing that rose up his throat to choke him. Her confidence and power was the result of their partnership, their love and nurturing. She'd built the steel in her spine with the raw iron they'd provided. And it was awe-inspiring. They'd created something beautiful together, something lasting and strong, that had breath and life all its own. 

Not for the first time and probably not for the last, Will thought of how he found Jia. She was a force all her own, a mastermind in the making, battle-tested and tempered. And he couldn't take all the credit for that. She wasn't all his, not really. From the moment Hannibal decided to spare her, to leave her for Will to find, she became theirs. Will had given her his mind, his observation skills, his directness, but her determination and confidence came from Hannibal's actions. He'd given her freedom and a chance to live. She wouldn't let anyone take that from her again, not even Will. 

Eventually, court proceedings adjourned to be resumed the following day. Will headed out without a glance at Hannibal, which he knew would sting. Hannibal wanted Will's attention, wanted to be noticed, wanted to be appreciated. Will could delight for a time in making Hannibal work for it. Hannibal wouldn’t work too hard, though—that was beneath him—so Will would have to hold a balance between giving attention and taking it away.

As expected, Hannibal caught up to him, weaving between the masses of people who'd come to watch. Will altered the rhythm of his stride just enough to make Hannibal have to pay close attention to keep matching it. The way Hannibal's brows lowered when he noticed almost made Will laugh. This onslaught of minor inconveniences and annoyances was petty, but together, they were effective in drawing out the beast beneath Hannibal's veil, the Ripper's disdain and anger toward discourtesy. And Will was being very, very rude.

"Will," Hannibal said tightly, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to irritate me."

Will hummed with a smile. "Would I do that?"

Hannibal jaw set. "What are you hoping to gain with this? It doesn't suit you."

"And what would suit me, Dr. Lecter? Your bedsheets? Perhaps draped elegantly over my ass for you to sketch like one of your French girls."

"Don't be crude." Hannibal seemed honestly distressed now.

Will could exploit that. "Sorry, I didn't realize you cared much for what came out of my mouth unless it was you."

That really got to Hannibal, his shoulders going tense and eyes darkening. "Contrary to what you may think, I was not using you for my pleasure."

The sex had feelings then—real, exploitable, terrible feelings. Will didn’t let himself relish in the truth of that too long. 

"Is that why you liked the bite so much?" he asked, smile turning cruel. "Did you want to be claimed? Did you want to be mine?"

The barely contained darkness behind Hannibal's eyes was dying to come out. It'd be magnificent, too. Will had reconstructed it time and time again, but never really witnessed it for himself.

"Does it ache now?" Will whispered. "Is it filled with the weight of my anger? Do you feel the passion it once represented becoming tainted with my cruelty? For your sake, Hannibal, I hope it heals soon."

The words did their job. Real pain bloomed like nightshade over Hannibal's face, lovely and lethal, and Will shamelessly basked in it until the expression disappeared under that perfect veneer. Will hadn't found the cracks in it. So he had to make his own. 

"I see where Jia gets her talent for cutting remarks," Hannibal muttered evenly. "I'd been wondering if it was a skill she found all her own. I think I know better now."

Will shrugged. "She's a clever girl. Who's to say?"

"Do you intend to antagonize me endlessly?"

"Endlessly? No. Just until it stops serving its purpose." Will glanced at Hannibal's shoulder. "I wonder what I'd feel like with a matching mark. Would that be enough to bind us together?"

The look Hannibal gave him was murderous. Will knew Hannibal was imagining removing the offending tongue from his mouth. That thought shouldn’t have been as pleasing as it was.

And like any good person, Will now needed to put a balm on the burn.

“I would daydream,” Will said softly, “about life with you. How it would feel to wake up with you every day, take Jia to school, cook together, spend weekends lounging around the house. It was a good dream.”

Hannibal softened his gaze immediately, falling into the picture Will painted. “Do you still dream of that?” He didn’t sound pleading—too proud for that—but it was close.

Will let the longing take root in his gut, let it spread through his limbs, let it cling like vines upon a brick wall. It’d grow into something even he couldn’t predict, and he was helpless to stop it. Well, that didn’t really matter, did it? He could no sooner get rid of Hannibal than he could his own heart. There was some comfort in that, in the resignation to his fate. No need to worry about an eventuality.

They made it out of the courthouse. Will stopped at the top of the steps and turned to face Hannibal. People wandered past, oblivious to everything but their own concerns. How must that feel?

“My dream,” Will said with a curious tilt of his head. “What do I dream of now that the old one was stolen?”

Hannibal’s expression revealed nothing, but it didn’t need to. Will knew the suffering and uncertainty that lurked behind that implacable face. It’d been growing in the few days since Will’s revelation, occupying all of Hannibal’s thoughts like an overfilled pot. And wasn’t that just the sweetest thing? 

Hannibal was going to be totally and completely consumed with Will, his head invaded and overtaken. That was only fair.

Will gripped Hannibal’s shoulder, directly over the mark, and squeezed. Hannibal only winced a little at the tenderness of the bruise. It was enough to make Will hum with satisfaction at the pain he caused. He leaned in to Hannibal’s ear.

“I dream of making you mine,” he whispered. “Mine to abuse and soothe and devour.”

Hannibal had stopped breathing. He didn’t speak when Will pulled away.

“Have a good day, Dr. Lecter,” Will breathed. He headed down the steps of the courthouse, leaving Hannibal alone at the top.


	21. Chapter 21

It was an offhand comment, said with little affect, but Will heard it for what it really was: an opportunity. He’d just picked up Jia from school. She was quiet the drive home and spoke only when they’d parked in front of their house. It was just a mumble. Something about Mrs. Kirwan looming around the girl her husband had abused. Will understood. Mrs. Kirwan had known what her husband was, maybe even helped him. It was obvious enough that a blind child had seen it. 

Sloppy.

They went silently into the house. She sat on a stool in the kitchen, one earbud in while she listened to an audiobook. Will got started on dinner, just pasta for today. His brain was only half on his work, the other half plotting his next moves. He needed the copycat to make another display, something that would weaken the prosecution’s stance. How could Abigail kill again if she were in custody still? And if she had a partner, who? She didn’t get along with anyone at the hospital, and the only other people she spent time around were a ten-year-old, an FBI profiler, and psychiatrists.

“Jia,” Will said to get her attention.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and hit a button, pausing her audiobook. “Yes?”

He filled a pot with water. “You’re going to have a sleepover with Michelle on Wednesday.”

A beat passed before she spoke. “Sure. Why?”

He briefly considered lying, but thought better of it. Any normal ten-year-old wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. She wasn’t a normal ten-year-old. She’d convinced him to let the Ripper into their home, knowing full well what he was. He could tell her the truth.

“I’m having Dr. Lecter over,” he admitted, “and I’d prefer you didn’t see him just yet.”

The lines around her eyes deepened. “And what are you planning to do with Dr. Lecter?”

Will chuckled, which just made her frown. “I’m not going to do anything bad to him, Jia. Relax. It’s just dinner.”

“You date serial killers now?” She sounded disbelieving, not judgemental.

He set the pot on the stove and poured a bit of salt into it. “If I did, how would you feel about it? You protected him.”

“And you.” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to feel, Dad. He took care of us. He helped you with Mr. Kirwan. He killed my ba. And he’s the Ripper.”

Will lit the burner and stared at the water in the pot. He had no response. Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, and Will was either going to let himself be swept away or finally trap the killer whose competency had both infuriated and awed him. Jia would accept either outcome. The only one she wouldn’t was either of them dying.

He refused to let anything divide their relationship, least of all Hannibal. She knew how he suffered with the choices laid out before him now and the weight of their reality. It had been an impossible choice to begin with. Will would have found out one way or the other, and she’d chosen the route that saved his life and Hannibal’s. She’d let Hannibal care about him, counting on that he’d feel the same. She was sorry for it. That was enough for Will.

“Do you love him?” she asked softly.

Will wasn’t ready to answer that question. It scared him, shook him to his very core, and he needed to be strong right now. He needed to let his rage turn him into something that could face Hannibal—monster to monster. 

“Do you want Abigail to stay with us?” Will asked instead of answering.

Jia nodded. “I miss her. I’m worried about her.”

He got a saucepan from a cabinet. “I’m going to bring her home.”

“How?” When he didn’t answer, her brows lowered. “Dad, how are you going to bring her home?”

“Don’t ask me that, Jia.” His voice sounded like someone else’s, dry and low and awkward in his mouth. “Don’t ask me because I’ll tell you.”

She swallowed and bowed her head. “All right.”

He nodded, even if she couldn’t see it, and pulled a can of tomato paste from the pantry. Silence stretched between them. Neither of them tried to break it. 

#

There was exasperation and no shortage of disdain in Will’s eyes when he took the stand. Hannibal watched from the benches, curious to see what defense Will might have for Abigail. They were going through expert witnesses over the next couple days, and Will had been the primary profiler on the copycat. Hannibal would probably be called in at some point since he was one of Abigail’s guardians and semi-official psychiatrist.

The prosecution’s lawyer stood before Will, and it was clear he was taking note of every weakness, every psychological fault, in the woman. His eyes drank in all of her to break apart and analyze in that wonderful mind of his. She seemed uncomfortable under his gaze, not quite meeting his eyes, but she was a woman used to dealing with the worst of humanity. It’d take more than a look to make her bend.

“Mr. Graham,” she began after clearing her throat, “please state your full name, occupation, and relationship with Abigail Hobbs.”

Will let out a breath that almost certainly came from annoyance, but he managed to make it look like a regular exhale. “William Graham. Lecturer at Quantico for the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit and criminal profiler. I’m one of Abigail Hobbs’ guardians.”

“And you worked the copycat killer case?”

“Yes."

“It’s unusual, isn’t it, for an agent to gain guardianship over a ward of the case they’re working?”

Will looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Perhaps.”

She fixed her eyes on him, gaining confidence. “You have a daughter whom you adopted in a similar fashion, yes?”

“I do.” He met her eyes, undaunted and indomitable.

“You must be very kind, Mr. Graham, to take in a young girl and raise her on your own.”

He didn’t reply, probably because she hadn’t asked a question. She seemed unnerved by his silence, but recovered quickly and continued on.

“Do you think you can be completely impartial where Abigail Hobbs is concerned, given your connection?” she asked.

The defense lawyer was tense, but couldn’t object to a question that had merit.

Will arched a brow. “Do you have children, Ms. Jimenez?”

The prosecution’s lawyer blinked. “Yes.”

“Do you reprimand them when they do something bad?”

Her lips formed a thin line. “Yes.”

“As do I.” His smile sat wrong on his lips. “To answer your question, I don’t believe I’m impartial toward Abigail, but if I thought she’d done something wrong, then I’d want her to face the consequences of her actions. That is what any good parent would do. If my daughter were to kill someone, I would not take it lightly. Would you blindly defend your child in those circumstances, Ms. Jimenez?”

Hannibal withheld a chuckle when the lawyer broke eye contact again.

“I don’t know, Mr. Graham,” she said. “My children are five and eight.”

“And my daughter was six when she thought about killing her abusive biological father, just to stop him from hurting her. I’ll never know if she was going to follow-through since he was murdered in front of her by someone else.” Will spoke with a perfectly neutral voice, but his words cut through the room. “I’ve since had her evaluated for psychopathy and put in therapy for PTSD, and she’s shown no tendencies toward violence in the four years I’ve had her. But children are capable of terrible things, Ms. Jimenez, more than we give them credit for. I’ve consulted on cases where children killed their parents or siblings or friends. Some needed psychological help. Some certainly were destined to spend their life behind bars, and I saw to that as well in a few instances. Abigail is as capable of violence as any of them and any of us. That doesn’t mean she would commit violent acts, and given what I know about her, I don’t think she would.”

Jimenez’s jaw clenched. She hadn’t gotten what she wanted, unskilled in managing someone as cunning as Will. “No further questions, Your Honor,” she said and sat at her table.

The defense lawyer was next. She seemed far more at ease than the prosecution, but she shouldn’t have. Will was playing a game. Everyone was a player.

“Mr. Graham,” she started, “if you would please describe the psychological profile you made for the copycat killer.”

He took a moment to respond, presumably to gather his thoughts, and then his eyes set on Hannibal. “Highly intelligent, curious, performative. He kills for his own amusement, but he doesn’t have to kill the same way all the time. Doesn’t have the impulsivity or compulsion, which is why I hesitate to call him a psychopath. He lacks some common traits, such as poor emotional regulation, compulsive behavior, lack of long-term goal planning, irresponsibility, sexual violence, and constant need to sate boredom. His kills were well-planned, well-executed, and they demonstrate intention enough to indicate that he is fully aware of the impact they have. He takes responsibility for his actions, revels in their damage really, and wouldn’t like anyone else to take credit for his work. 

“The sporadic nature of his kills, while being obviously premeditated, indicates he’s quite in control of his urges and can go long lengths of time without killing. He isn’t easily bored either, by that metric—curious maybe. He might like to try something to see what will happen. His kills are all slightly different, suggesting a level of versatility and inquisitiveness. He doesn’t like to do the same thing twice unless it serves a purpose. 

“The bodies he does display are taunts to law enforcement as well as his version of art. Each kill is a testament to his creativity and the victim’s shame. He wants to humiliate them. That was one of the key differences between him and Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Hobbs wanted to honor his kills because all his victims were surrogates for his daughter, whom he loved in a twisted way. He felt a strong compulsion to kill her and killed look-alikes to spare her. Abigail was lucky she did not become his final victim.”

Hannibal’s heart was thundering in his chest by the end. It was better than praise, hearing what Will truly saw. Nothing out of place. Nothing wrong. 

The defense lawyer smiled. “And how would you profile Abigail Hobbs?” she asked.

“Abigail demonstrates normal levels of empathy,” Will said. “My daughter is blind, and Abigail is always eager to assist her and entertain. She does exhibit some antisocial behaviors at the psych ward, but not outside of it, indicating the behaviors are circumstantial, rather than innate. She’s shone no inclination to violence nor to a lack of conscience, either in the psych ward or outside it. The one act of violence I’ve witnessed from her was in defense of her primary psychiatrist, Dr. Alana Bloom, who was attacked two weeks ago by an escaped criminal. Arguably, that is another demonstration of empathy.”

The lawyer nodded and clasped her hands behind her back, obviously pleased. “And what might you speculate of the copycat killer’s intentions with the most recent murder?”

Will’s eyes were boring holes in Hannibal. “He wanted to see what would happen.”

The lawyer asked a couple more questions about Abigail’s behavior. It all fell into ambient noise. Hannibal’s vision tunneled until all he could see was Will, trapped with him in this moment. The beat of Hannibal’s heart rang in his ears. He smiled. Will’s eyes lit up at the expression, that dark passion within him growing. He was a creature of wrath and contempt, and even Botticelli’s “Primavera” couldn’t compare in beauty or spirit.

It was almost an hour before Will was released. He headed for the door as soon as possible, and Hannibal followed. They walked the sparse halls in silence for a minute.

“Jia’s at a sleepover Wednesday,” Will said abruptly, “so it’ll just be us.”

Hannibal wasn’t sure how to take that. Was it a promise of privacy or a warning that there would be no witnesses? He’d take the gamble. “I look forward to it.”

Will’s grin showed too many teeth. “It’s a date.”

#

“Will is connecting murders that previously had no connections,” Jack said. He sat in Hannibal’s office on the other side of the desk, looking for all intents and purposes like a concerned friend.

Hannibal leaned back in his desk chair, spinning a pencil around his thumb absently. “Beyond his involvement in the investigations?”

Jack nodded. “That’s right.”

“So you’re wondering if the lines are blurring or if he’s on to something.”

“I’m wondering all sorts of things.” Jack cast a troubled look toward the floor. “What’s Will’s relationship with Abigail Hobbs right now? He doesn’t seem like he did with Jia. He was...careful...with Jia. She was more fragile than Abigail ever was, though.”

Hannibal didn’t think he could ever describe Jia as fragile. “You think Will’s protecting Abigail. I suppose his testimony on Monday would support that idea.”

“He has been protecting her ever since he shot her father.” The lines around Jack’s eyes and mouth deepened. “I just don’t know from what.”

“I can’t imagine he would hide anything criminal from you,” Hannibal said carefully. “I’ve only ever known Will as a man striving to be his best self.”

“You haven’t known him that long.”

Hannibal considered killing Jack just for the implication that anyone could ever know Will better than him, but he swallowed his ire.

“But we both know him well enough to know he hasn’t been himself recently,” Jack continued. “He’s...flippant. I think he resents me for arresting Abigail, going after her at all. He refuses to look at the evidence. He’s gotten everyone in forensics pondering a connection between the copycat and the Ripper. I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. If the Ripper isn’t in the FBI, he’s at least close. Who’s to say that he isn’t the copycat?”

So Will intended to close the walls in, trap Hannibal within the confines of Jack’s hands. Two could play at that game.

“There’s something you should hear,” Hannibal said and pulled out an audio recorder from a drawer. He knew the time he needed, had it memorized for just such an occasion.

 _How did you feel seeing Marissa Schurr impaled in his antler room?_ Hannibal asked over the recording.

 _Guilty_ , Will answered.

_Because you couldn’t save her?_

_Because I felt like I killed her._

Hannibal turned the recording off. The damage had been done.

Jack’s jaw clenched and unclenched twice before he spoke. “Where was Will the night Marissa Schurr was killed?”

“He was supposed to be in his hotel room,” Hannibal said, furrowing his brows to seem concerned. “I knocked on his door. He didn’t answer.”

“Will was still dealing with encephalitis then. He was disoriented a lot.”

Hannibal nodded. “A dissociated personality state.”

“Whose personality is it?”

Hannibal made himself look appropriately afflicted. “He said he got so close to Garrett Jacob Hobbs and what he had done...that he felt he was becoming him.”

Jack let out a long breath. “But he doesn’t have encephalitis anymore.”

“He has an empathy disorder, Jack, and it’s put under abuse frequently from the killers he encounters. I haven’t seen any evidence to suggest that Will isn’t in control of himself since he started treatment, but I’m not with him all the time.”

Jack rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “It’s still speculation, but thank you for letting me know.”

Hannibal bowed his head. “Of course.”

“I’ll let you get on with your afternoon. Until next time, Dr. Lecter.” Jack showed himself out.

Hannibal leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. The clock on his desk indicated he still had another hour before he had to leave for dinner with Will. It was probably prudent to come armed, especially after that conversation with Jack, but Hannibal didn’t think Will would try anything violent tonight, not while so many things between them held in a delicate balance. Will might have been leading Hannibal to destruction. Tonight could have also been a chance to repair their broken relationship.

Hannibal pulled out a sketch from underneath the pile on his desk. It was the shadowy figure of Will’s body over him, taking what he wanted, pressing Hannibal inside him. His muscles strained with his efforts. Moonlight cast highlights over the edges of his shoulders and sides. The curls atop his head flopped messily over his face. Rarely had Hannibal seen such raw passion. It left him in awe.

He wiled away the hour with sketching Will sitting on the couch with Jia and Abigail, all of them free to laugh and smile. A picture of family.

Something heavy had settled in his chest by the time he tucked the sketches in a drawer and stood. He wasn’t used to wanting something so much, a dream held just out of his reach. Will seemed to dangle it in front of him, holding it hostage much like how Hannibal held Abigail’s future hostage. And neither of them could feign apathy.

The drive to Wolf Trap felt interminably long and still too short. For once, Hannibal didn’t know what to expect. Would he get the cold, cruel Will who’d antagonized him in the courthouse? The scornful Will who’d come to his office? Something else entirely?

Hannibal took a wine bottle from the passenger seat and climbed out of his car. The snow crunched under his shoes as he made his way to the front door. Soft barking sounded before he knocked.

“It’s open!” Will called faintly from inside.

Hannibal was immediately swarmed by the dogs when he opened the door, as he always was at Will’s. They were well-behaved, though, and let him pass unencumbered to the kitchen. Will was gutting fish, knife firm in his hand and movements efficient. He wore a grey shirt with a green tint that accented the subtle specks of desaturated blue in his eyes. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

“Hello, Hannibal,” he greeted without looking up from his work. The first-name usage had been sporadic lately, usually reserved for only their most informal conversations, as if Will didn’t like the distance between them in those moments.

Hannibal set the wine bottle on the countertop and shrugged out of his coat. “Good evening, Will. How are you?”

Will’s smile was soft, genuine. “Better and better.”

“That’s good to hear.” Hannibal sat on a stool by the counter that Jia usually occupied while her father cooked and draped his coat over his lap.

“And how are you? Anything interesting happen today?” 

Hannibal briefly wondered if Will somehow found out about his conversation with Jack, but it didn’t really matter. “I’m unsettled. You told Jack Crawford that you suspected a connection between the copycat and the Ripper. That was mean, Will.”

“Hmm.” Will’s smile widened. “I take it you said something to make Jack suspect me as the copycat in return?”

So Will had accounted for that eventuality. Of course he had.

“I think that’s only fair,” Hannibal said.

“I’m only surprised you didn’t do it sooner.” Will started cutting fillets from the fish. “Do you have any regrets about me, Hannibal?”

The question was an odd one, obviously containing an agenda, but Hannibal took the bait. “With every choice lies the possibility of regret. However, if I choose not to do something, it’s usually for a good reason.”

Will laid a fillet on a waiting plate. “I’m..riddled with regrets.”

“A life without regret would be no life at all,” Hannibal offered carefully, unsure where this line of conversation was going.

Will laid another fillet on the plate. “I regret what I did with Ian Kirwan.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not remove him as a threat to your daughter?”

Will’s hands stopped their work as he lifted his gaze to Hannibal. “Oh, no, no, no. That wasn’t the mistake I made. The mistake...was letting him keep his life.”

The heat that spread through Hannibal came with no warning. “So it’s not stopping him that you regret. It’s not doing so permanently.”

“That would be more accurate.”

Hannibal licked his lips before speaking. “You must adapt your behavior to avoid feeling the same way again, Will.”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on Will, his eyes lighting up viciously. “Adapt. Evolve. Become.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said a bit breathlessly. “What do you see when you imagine killing Ian Kirwan?”

They were both leaning toward each other over the counter, but Hannibal didn’t know when that’d started. Will’s eyes were swallowing him in, drawing him into their fathomless depths. Closer to the edge of something magnificent.

“A missed opportunity to feel,” Will whispered, breath grazing Hannibal’s lips, “like I felt when I killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs.”

The words passed sweet as honey over Hannibal’s ears.

“To feel like I felt when I dreamed of us killing Jia’s father.” Will’s lips brushed Hannibal’s as he spoke.

“And what does that feel like?” Hannibal breathed.

Will’s smile was felt, not seen. “I felt...a quiet sense of power.”

Hannibal was familiar with madness. He bathed in its rivers and knew how to tempt others into the waters, but Will felt like the undertow, indifferent of whom it swept away and insurmountable in its strength. The pull had already caught Hannibal. It knocked his legs out from under him and replaced the air in his lungs with water. 

He closed that last bit of distance between them. Will met him fiercely, like a drowning man who’d finally found air. They were locked together in the current. The heat searing under Hannibal’s skin threatened to leave irreparable scars, and still he sought more. He wanted every sensation burned into him like brands upon his memory, deeper than flesh and blood. They had to bleed into the twisted remains of his soul.

Will pulled away, but not too far. His breaths came heavily, and his pupils were wide with unconcealed desire. Hannibal committed the sight to memory. It’d be put to paper as soon as he found a moment to sketch.

“Will you help with dinner?” Will murmured, voice low and airy. “Please.”

Hannibal swallowed at the one added word, at how much power it wielded over him. “Of course.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sex. You've been warned.

Dinner didn’t have much talking. There were glances filled with heat and brushed fingertips over the table between bites of fish. Hannibal’s heart hadn’t slowed much since he’d arrived, and even while he washed dishes, it still thundered in his chest. Will stood tall and steady beside him, drying the plates leisurely. He was drawing this out. There would be no instant gratification, just the slow build up of tensile strain.

“More wine?” Will offered when the dishes had been put away. 

Hannibal nodded, and Will took one of the two empty glasses from the countertop. He filled them with the wine Hannibal had brought. The bottle was almost empty at this point. Hannibal took his glass when offered and sipped it. There was a bitterness in this batch that wasn’t unpleasant, but unexpected for the vintage.

“Jia thought I was luring you here to kill you,” Will murmured. “She’s very attached to you living.”

Hannibal took another sip of wine. “Were you planning to kill me?”

Will’s lips twitched. “La petite mort, maybe.”

“You’ve grown far bolder, Will,” Hannibal observed as his heart skipped. “I can’t help but feel as though I’m walking into a trap.”

Will set his glass down and then did the same with Hannibal’s. “Different fish require different lures, and I intend to eat.” He grabbed Hannibal’s tie and tugged until their lips met.

Hannibal was definitely falling into a trap. That didn’t stop him from letting Will crowd him and kiss him breathless. His ability to deny Will had been nearly non-existent to begin with, and now it seemed impossible. Compassion. He wanted to rid Will of moral restraints not just to have someone with which he could share his world, but also to set Will free. Something so beautiful deserved to exist outside restraints, self-imposed or otherwise.

Will led them up to his bedroom. Hannibal half-expected to have his clothes torn off, so he was surprised when he was gently pushed to sit on the bed. The shadow of Will’s figure looming in the dark was a temptingly chilling sight. Deft hands steadily unbuttoned Hannibal’s shirt, prying the fabric away like he was unwrapping a gift. His touch was almost reverent while his fingertips drifted over the ridges of Hannibal’s chest.

What was this?

Will stripped his own shirt off as he ducked down to capture Hannibal’s lips.Their tongues slid together deliberately, unhurried and appreciative. Hannibal could hear nothing else past the rush in his ears as he was gently pushed down. He shivered under the soft kisses planted down his throat and along his collarbone. His breath left him at the first pass of hands sliding down his sides. A swell of dread and want tore through him, paralyzed him.

What was this?

Will pulled Hannibal’s pants off and then his own, leaving them bare. Nudity had never felt so intimate, but it was suddenly and horribly vulnerable. The eyes glittering overhead saw too much, saw it all, and didn’t flinch. Hannibal bit his lip when Will knelt between his knees and opened his mouth.

What was this?

Scorching, wet heat surrounded Hannibal. His fingers disappeared into Will’s curls. The moan that escaped him was choked. Every breath he drew ached, clawed at his throat and lungs, and it only got worse when he felt a finger press into him. Did Will want to destroy him or savor him? There was no anger here, no pain. Will was almost...worshipful.

Hannibal felt the pull of the undertow again. He had barely enough time to wonder if he was already drowning before Will’s fingers hooked in him, and his vision went white. It’d been several years, decades maybe, since Hannibal had craved someone like this. He wanted to let Will in. The prospect gave his hunger form and teeth. It paradoxically threatened to consume him. His thirst would overwhelm his better judgement that told him even now that he was falling too fast and hard toward the ground.

An indefinable amount of time passed before Will released him. There was no sense of relief. Hannibal felt on the knife’s edge of...something. But he let Will turn him on the bed and crawl over his body. The dull scent of lube drifted through the air. Hannibal didn’t know when Will had applied it, didn’t actually care. His hands were searching, clinging along Will’s flanks. The need in him was only distracted, not sated, by the lips that found his. 

Will’s kiss was firmer now, indulgent in its heat. Hannibal let the agony of his desperation wash over him. The longing for more, for connection, was too much. His trembling stopped only when Will intertwined their fingers and pressed their hands to the mattress. 

“Please,” Will whispered into Hannibal’s mouth.

Impossible to deny. “Yes.”

They lingered like that, lips barely brushing, while Will eased into Hannibal. It was too much and not enough. Hannibal let the hand in his anchor him while waves of sensation flooded him. Burning pressure was overshadowed by an unshakeable sense of correctness. Pieces of a puzzle came together too perfectly to deny the picture created, as jumbled as it was to outside eyes.

Will’s kiss was entrapment all its own. Hannibal felt the shackles wrapped around his wrists and ankles, the true weight of them revealed now. They were of his own making. Each link held the strength of his feelings for the man bearing down on him. The damning restraints would ache one day, he was sure.

The first real thrust made Hannibal gasp. He couldn’t maintain their kiss as Will started a slow pace that gradually picked up speed. Will dropped his head to the bite mark that was almost completely faded now, but he only kissed it briefly and then turned his head, baring his neck. Hannibal’s heart stuttered. He could hardly breathe while he kissed the bullet-sized scar in Will’s shoulder.

The press of teeth made Will’s breath leave him. Hannibal bit down hard enough to leave a mark, but not enough to draw blood. Will’s hips stalled. Hannibal released his bite to look up at Will concernedly.

“Too much?” Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head. “No, I just got too close.” He kissed the furrow smooth between Hannibal’s brows before bringing their lips together again.

They kissed for a long, languid moment before Will started moving again. He reached between them to stroke Hannibal. The torrent of pleasure was overpowering, crowding out everything else in Hannibal until he could feel nothing else. Always attuned, Will thrust faster and harder. He clutched Hannibal’s hand tighter as his breathing grew uneven and harsh.

There was no relief in the crest. There was no relief in the electric release that dissipated up Hannibal’s spine. There was no relief in the fall back into his body.

Relief had the form of stuttering hips and clasped hands and moans muffled in his neck. Relief was the first breath drawn together after the fall. Relief was the storm blue eyes that met his.

His pain and pleasure. His anguish and comfort. His affliction and cure.

If it wasn’t Will, it wasn’t enough.

What was this?

#

Hannibal was out within thirty minutes. Will didn’t move immediately, indulging in the weight of Hannibal in his arms while he let himself. The plan had been to take over Hannibal so completely that the pain later would hurt all the worse. Will hadn’t been prepared to be overtaken as well. 

He touched the mark on his shoulder, just above the scar where he’d been shot as a cop. Such an odd thing, to belong to someone. He belonged to Jia, in a sense, but she didn’t understand him entirely. The parts he showed her were what he showed most of the world, the Will who did his job and caught criminals. But Hannibal had seen every part, even the ones Will had struggled to hide from himself.

A partner.

Will waited an hour longer before snapping right by Hannibal’s ear. There was no response. He extricated himself and climbed out of bed. There were clothes he’d laid out already on his dresser that he dressed in. It was just blue jeans and a black shirt. Inconspicuous. Unremarkable.

The dogs perked their heads up when he came downstairs, but they were quiet. He dumped out the forgotten wine glasses into the sink, destroying evidence. Hannibal hadn’t noticed that Will had steadily drugged his wine all night, but he’d put the pieces together in the morning. Will didn’t want to give more evidence for Hannibal to wield against him.

It was nearly pitch black out, but he didn’t turn his headlights on as he headed for the suburbs. The houses all looked the same, boxy in the old colonial style. Will parked several blocks back and took the duffle bag from his trunk. Part of him was waiting for the hesitation or a moment of reconsideration. But there was none while he trekked up to the Kirwans’ house.

The process of breaking in was the same as last time. He picked the lock of the back door and let himself in silently. The bedrooms were upstairs, and he had no trouble locating the master. It smelled of artificial freesia. There were two dressers and a full closet, but only one person slept in the bed. She had brown hair, which was just luck. Garrett Jacob Hobbs preferred his victims a little younger, but she was probably in her early thirties. Close enough.

He crept to her bedside. Looking at her this close he should have felt the reality of this whole thing sinking in, but it had a long time ago. There was no doubt in his mind. All he felt was anticipation. She’d be punished for what she’d done, for aiding her husband’s abuse—perhaps even participating in it.

He crouched down and wrapped an arm around her neck. She didn’t get a chance to scream before he cut off her airway. Her flailing was easy to overpower. So he counted the seconds until she stilled and then counted a couple more seconds.

Her pulse was faint when he checked it, but still there. Good.

He carried her downstairs and laid her body on the dining table. Taking her arm was easy with the tools he’d brought in his duffle bag. She’d just started to come around by the time he’d finished wrapping the appendage in plastic, so he cut the base of her throat, letting her trachea fill with blood. It dribbled out of her mouth as she choked on it. Soon she’d die.

It was a full minute before she fell limp. He stripped off her clothes, wrapped her wounds in plastic, and bleached her nails. The blanket he wrapped her in would soak up the rest of the blood. There was no one out to watch him carry her body down the street to a nearby grove of trees. He’d hidden the antlers in the branches yesterday. It was easy enough to take them down.

Cassie Boyle and Marissa Schurr flashed across his eyes while he arranged her just so. It was a good replication, but it wasn’t just for the FBI. 

He chose a hunting knife to be his brush tonight.

#

Hannibal woke to the scent of coffee and bad aftershave. Lips gently trailed up the side of his neck as his alertness slowly came back to him. He was four decades too old to get morning erections, but at present, his body was trying its hardest. A satisfied hum escaped him when teeth grazed the shell of his ear.

“Good morning,” Will whispered.

Hannibal thought about waking up to this every day. “Good morning.” He turned over to find Will pressed against his back, bare down to his boxers. The scent of bleach was faint on him, but there.

Will kissed him before he could ask what needed bleaching. There was that same tenderness from last night that sent Hannibal’s heart racing, and he didn’t bother questioning it this time. Will wasn’t an ordinary man. He didn’t inspire ordinary feelings.

A distant knocking instigated a round of barking from downstairs. Will pulled away immediately with a grimace. He seemed annoyed, but not surprised at the early visitor. Again, a kiss stopped Hannibal from inquiring.

“There’s coffee on the nightstand,” Will said before he stood from the bed. “I’ll be back.”

Hannibal sat up as Will disappeared. There were two mugs of coffee on the nightstand. He took one and inhaled the aroma. It wasn’t anything special, but it wasn’t instant. 

Faint voices drifted upstairs. Hannibal tensed when he recognized Jack Crawford’s baritone. The clock on the nightstand read 7:13. What was Jack doing here so early? It had to have been a case. There were few other reasons that Jack sought Will at such odd hours.

Hannibal set the coffee down. He pulled on a pair of Will’s sweatpants before padding downstairs.

“—was found dead in a grove near her house earlier this morning,” Jack was saying, voice drifting out of the living room. “Looks like the copycat.”

Hannibal halted on the bottom of the stairs to listen.

“That’s unusual,” Will said. “We’re a ways out from Baltimore.”

“Annie Kirwan was a teacher at Jia’s school, wasn’t she? Did you know her?”

“Not well. Jia didn’t have her as a teacher.”

“Her husband was arrested for possession of child pornography. You must have heard about that. He was taken into custody not long after Jia was sent to the hospital.”

Silence.

“Where were you last night, Will?” Jack asked after a long, tense moment.

Will didn’t answer immediately, as if considering his next words. “I was here.”

“All night?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone other than yourself that can verify that? Jia maybe?”

Will didn’t answer.

The whole thing unfolded before Hannibal’s eyes. He glanced toward the kitchen where the wine glasses were probably already scrubbed clean and put away. The bitterness in the wine… Doxepin? Something stronger? Either way, Hannibal wouldn’t have woken up if Will had left in the night. All he knew was that he’d gone to sleep in Will’s arms and woken up to fresh coffee. The only evidence he had was a faint scent of bleach, but that wasn’t enough to implicate Will had been destroying DNA material.

“I can verify,” Hannibal said as he stepped into the living room. 

Jack stood in a suit and coat, his presence commanding from the room’s center. Will seemed out of place in his own home while he stood against the wall, robe wrapped around himself tightly.

He and Jack looked at him with surprise. Hannibal wasn’t wearing a shirt, just Will’s sweatpants. And the faint bruise on his shoulder was telling enough. Jack took in all of it at once, eyes widening.

“I was with Will all night, Jack,” Hannibal said with a knowing glance at Will. He wasn’t even angry, just impressed. 

Will averted his eyes, jaw set, when Jack looked at him.

“What are you accusing him of?” Hannibal asked since he’d be remiss not to play his part in Will’s hard won game.

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Jack said evenly, “only asking his whereabouts.”

Will glowered. “That’s not all you’re asking.” He stood from the wall. His robe fell open a little, revealing the dark purple mark on his shoulder. When Jack’s eyes latched onto it, Will was quick to cover it again. 

“Well, if you’re both here,” Jack muttered, “maybe I can use your eyes on the case.”

“Give us a minute.” Will grabbed Hannibal’s hand and pulled him out of the room. He didn’t let go until they were back in his bedroom.

“You drugged me,” Hannibal said.

Will had his back turned, preventing the reading of his face. “Will you forgive me? I had to avoid the suspicion you raised in Jack.”

Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will’s middle and buried his face in those dark curls. “I think you were modest about your chess playing.”

“I can’t show all my cards, can I?” Will murmured breathily as he leaned into Hannibal with open want.

“Mixing your metaphors?”

“Mm, forgive me that, too.”

Hannibal let his fingers drag up to Will’s neck. The response was immediate. Will let out a little sigh as he let his jaw be turned aside, exposing his neck. Hannibal kissed a line over the pulsing carotid there.

“Did you actually kill Kirwan’s wife?” Hannibal asked, even if he didn’t need the answer.

Will chuckled. “You tell me.”

Hannibal was suddenly, urgently in need of seeing Annie Kirwan's body. “Let’s go then.”

They managed to get dressed and finish their coffee in twenty minutes. Hannibal had brought a bag with a change of clothes, at Will’s advice, so he had his own shirt and pants. Jack was still waiting downstairs, surrounded by the dogs, when they came down. Will pointedly didn’t meet Jack’s eyes, just asked for the location and then headed out.

He drove. His car also smelled faintly of bleach. Hannibal glanced around the interior, but he didn’t see anything out of place. There probably wasn’t anything out of place. Will was nothing if not thorough.

“You eat them, don’t you?” he said abruptly.

Hannibal blinked

“Oh, don’t look like that,” Will muttered. “You like fine cuisine, and every other word out of your mouth is a cannibal pun. I put two and two together.”

Hannibal could neither confirm nor deny that, so he didn’t reply. Will didn’t seem to need an answer, just stared ahead at the road.

The tree grove was quite large, spanning two acres. FBI and police were crawling over it, like flies on a corpse. Hannibal wasn’t sure what to expect when he got out of the car with Will, but he didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it left him in a rush.

The antlers emerged from her back like boney wings. She hung on them like Marissa Schurr had, but she was far more mutilated. Her womb had been cut out, the destruction of her ability to have children. One of her arms was cut just under the elbow like Miriam Lass. Frozen blood formed dark trails down her front where she’d been stabbed through the trachea.

Hannibal was struck with a great urge to bend Will over the hood of the car and lay worship to such radiance. No small amount of restraint stopped him. Will’s little, knowing smile didn’t help.

They crossed the police line and came right up to the body. Beverly, Zeller, and Price were still observing it. They perked up when they saw Will.

“Not often we’re in your neck of the woods,” Price noted. “Jack said you knew this one.”

Will shrugged. “She was a teacher at Jia’s school, but I’ve only ever seen her in passing.”

Hannibal looked over the work that was a replica, but still so wonderfully Will. “Her husband was the one who was arrested for child pornography, right?” he prompted, as if he didn’t already know.

“That’s her.” Will sighed, looking over the body with barely contained scorn.

Jack came up behind them. “What’s your read?” he asked. “Why her? She’s not young enough to fit the usual MO.”

Will circled the body, eyes assessing. “He’s evolving his tastes. There’s...contempt. She’s not honorable, doesn’t deserve to be honored. This is a public shaming.” He pointed to her open abdomen. “What’s been cut out here?”

“Uterus and ovaries,” Beverly answered. “It’s one of two mutilations done post-mortem. The rest were when she was still alive.”

Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back and stared, taking in the sight. “Both functional and symbolic organs,” he murmured. “They make children. They were removed because she didn’t deserve them. Perhaps the killer thought she was in league with her husband. The missing arm is a bit odd.”

“The last time we saw a missing arm like that,” Price mumbled, “the Ripper was sending a message.”

Jack and Will connected eyes, as if some secret information were passing between them. Hannibal would have to create more distance between them if he was going to avoid Will’s machinations.

“Cassie Boyle’s lungs were taken when she was still alive,” Jack noted. “The Ripper usually performs his mutilation ante-mortem. That plus the arm and the antlers paints an interesting picture. This is almost a fusion of the Ripper kills and the copycats’.”

Oh, Will was a clever man.

“He doesn’t like people taking credit for his work, Jack,” Will said with a sigh. “You remember how well that went last time. I’d rather not have a repeat.”

Jack’s expression darkened. “I think we can agree on that.”

Will caught Hannibal’s gaze. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were virtually glowing.

Hannibal would need to plan something very special for his dear, sweet Will.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I maintain that this is the funniest chapter I've written, but I've got a really fucked up sense of humor. So...sorry.

She was pretty and thin enough that it seemed a stiff breeze might knock her over. But her eyes held the kind of strength that grew in the calcified cracks between broken bones and in hard ridges that once bled from flesh cut too many times. Will stopped on the steps leading up to Hannibal’s office as she came up the walkway in heels like needles. 

“Were you here to see Dr. Lecter?” she asked when she stopped in front of him.

He looked her over, noting that her right arm didn’t quite hang right. It’d been broken recently. “Yes, are you?”

Her unnaturally red lips stretched into something like a smile. “Every week.” She looked him over. “Are you a patient or colleague?”

“Friend.” He reached into his coat pocket to take out his wallet. “Do yourself a favor. Change psychiatrists.”

Her brows rose as she took Alana’s card from him. “Do all of Dr. Lecter’s friends give him such shining reviews?”

His smile was genuine. “No, but his exes do.”

Her eyes lit with interest. “Messy breakup?”

“Ongoingly.” He pointed to Alana’s card in her hand. “Give Dr. Bloom a call. Tell her Will Graham referred you. If Hannibal asks why you wanted to change psychiatrists, please tell him it was my doing in very explicit terms.”

She pocketed the card slowly, and he knew she’d make the call.

“Have a good day,” he murmured before trotting down the steps.

Hannibal would doubtlessly have questions later, but Will had stopped trying to pick his battles. Besides, Hannibal liked when Will took an interest in his affairs.

The drive to the courthouse was short in the middle of the day. Abigail’s trial was still in full swing, though with a decidedly different tone. The prosecution’s arguments were failing in the face of a new copycat kill. Jack was backpedaling, which weakened the FBI’s stance considerably. The defense hadn’t officially submitted the new kill as evidence, but they would when Hannibal arrived in an hour to testify.

Will read a book while the defense grilled a character witness, some old schoolmate of Abigail’s who really didn’t have much to say. Everything out of her mouth was easily dismantled hearsay that made her look like a lunatic screaming ‘witch.’ The defense was taking advantage of that, which he was sure would frustrate the prosecution even more.

An hour later, Hannibal arrived perfectly on time. He took the stand and swore on a Bible that meant as much to him as the pigs he ate. Will put his book away at that point, figuring it was in his best interest to pay attention. Either Hannibal would condemn Abigail further, or he’d support her case. The former would compel Will to escalate his violence. The latter might get Hannibal laid later. Although if Will were really honest with himself, he might just do both, regardless of the outcome.

“Please state your full name, occupation, and relationship to Abigail Hobbs,” the defense’s lawyer requested.

“Hannibal Lecter the Seventh,” Hannibal answered dutifully, “psychiatrist, and I am the other guardian to Abigail Hobbs.”

“Were you Abigail’s psychiatrist?” she asked while leaning against the booth, seeming thoroughly relaxed. 

Hannibal settled in his seat, perfectly poised as always. “Not in any official manner. Dr. Bloom requested I look after Abigail’s mental health when she couldn’t, and most often I facilitated interactions between her and the Grahams.”

“Will Graham and his daughter, Jiali, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“And how would you describe Abigail Hobbs’ mental health?”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked to her at the defense table, something soft in his gaze. “She was traumatized, plagued with nightmares and anxiety. The horror of what her father had done haunted her, and she had the misfortune of not only nearly losing her life to him, but watching him die. Will’s daughter, Jia, suffered similar trauma. She was abused by her biological father and ultimately witnessed his murder. The girls bonded over their shared trauma, and Abigail’s health was improving significantly with Jia’s help. They were very caring and protective toward each other.” His gaze turned to Will. “Like sisters.”

“Has Ms. Hobbs ever shown any alarming psychological symptoms that would indicate a proclivity for violence?”

“No, I’ve only seen one act of violence from her, if you could call it that. She was having dinner with Dr. Bloom, Jia, and I when a criminally insane former patient of Dr. Bloom’s broke in. Abigail took Jia outside and then returned to fight our assailant off of Dr. Bloom. She put herself at great risk to do so. I have seldom witnessed such selflessness and bravery.”

The lawyer nodded, seemingly pleased. “You worked with Jack Crawford and Will Graham closely on the Minnesota Shrike case. You were even there when Special Agent Graham saved Ms. Hobbs from her father. Agent Crawford suspected that Abigail was an accessory to her father’s murders. Did you ever have any such suspicions?”

Hannibal shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable. “I admit when I first heard about Lucinda Kemp that I thought Agent Crawford was correct. Trauma can do terrible things to a person, after all, and I’ve been in my discipline long enough to know that I can’t predict every patient. But I see my mistake now was not considering her innocence until the murder of Annie Kirwan yesterday.”

The prosecution team’s heads all perked up. Will’s lips twitched at their panic.

“And how did you know about that, Dr. Lecter?” the defense lawyer probed.

“I have been asked to consult on the case by Jack Crawford and Will Graham. They wanted help designing a profile on Mrs. Kirwan’s killer.”

The lawyer was doing a good job of concealing her smugness. “So you think Mrs. Kirwan’s murder was committed by the same person who killed Lucinda Kemp, Marissa Schurr, and Cassie Boyle?”

“The copycat killer, yes.”

The prosecution’s lawyer stood. “Profiles aren’t evidence,” she said. “They’re opinion. This is hearsay.”

The judge glanced between her and Hannibal, and then said, “I will allow it.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” the defense lawyer said before looking to Hannibal expectantly.

“I believe there are alarming similarities in the crimes, yes. Mr. Graham is one of the most accomplished criminal profilers in the FBI, with an unrivaled track record, and we were in agreement at all levels of the copycat’s profile development. The profile of Lucinda Kemp’s killer matches with Annie Kirwan’s.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter.” The defense lawyer nodded to the prosecution. “Your witness.”

The prosecution’s lawyer shuffled some papers, and then came up to Hannibal. She seemed to have learned from her mistakes with Will and stood firmer on the floor.

“Dr. Lecter,” she said, “how old was Annie Kirwan?”

Will had seen the question coming, and he had to fight back a smile.

“Thirty-two,” Hannibal said stiffly.

“And how old were Abigail Hobbs’ victims, or alleged victims?”

Hannibal let out a breath. “Seventeen and nineteen.”

“And her father’s victims?”

“Sixteen to twenty-one.”

The prosecution lawyer nodded. “Over ten years difference between them and Annie Kirwan. Isn’t that a bit odd?”

Will forced himself not to laugh. That would have been too rude, perhaps unforgivably so. Across the bench, Jack and Alana were watching with narrowed, nervous eyes.

“No two crimes of any killer are going to be exactly the same,” Hannibal said easily. “The similarities—”

“Your Honor,” the lawyer interrupted _very_ rudely. “The witness’ personal beliefs and biases are driving his conclusions. There are clearly two different killers and two different cases.”

The defense lawyer stood. “Your Honor, there are sufficient similarities to consider this a defense.”

The judge looked between the lawyers and sighed. “I’m ruling this defense inadmissible, Ms. Brauer.” 

Will allowed himself the smallest of smiles. Hannibal would doubtlessly do something quite heinous to that judge, and they’d have to call a mistrial. Wouldn’t that be a shame? He made himself look properly concerned by the time Jack and Alana glanced at him. 

The truth was that the specifics hadn’t really mattered. Jack was starting to become convinced of Will’s theory of the copycat and Ripper being the same person, and he was really the only one who needed to be convinced of that. Hannibal being denied his defense, being _cut off_ , would send a fury down upon this trial like divine fire. If Jack had any doubts about the Ripper being around, he wouldn’t after tomorrow.

Hannibal was released from the stand and immediately headed for the exit, not with an urgency to his stride or anything other than dignified poise. It was impressive really, given how much rage must have been coursing through him. Will withheld a sigh when Jack and Alana turned to him expectantly. This whole thing with everyone knowing their business was going to get old fast if they expected him to show affection to Hannibal. But he stood and headed for the doors.

Hannibal was already halfway down the hall. Will caught up to him and fell in step. They didn’t speak on the walk out to the parking lot. It wasn’t until they were standing beside Hannibal’s BMW that they even looked at each other. Will leaned on the driver side door and didn’t say all of the inflammatory things he really, really wanted to say. The urge to antagonize Hannibal to the point of violence should not have been so hard to keep down. That was truly insane.

“You want to kill him?” Will asked, but it came out teasing. So much for not antagonizing.

Hannibal’s eyes darkened. “Will you move aside, Will, or do you just want to patronize me?”

Will looked up at Hannibal through his lashes. “Kind of just want to patronize you.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal ducked down, planting his arm on the window beside Will’s head. His form was all menace. “And what do you hope to accomplish?”

Will’s heart pounded against his sternum. He was starting to wonder if he was the sadist or the masochist. “Making you lose that control you wear with such pride. That’s my right.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “How do you feel, Will, when you break my control?”

Will swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Godly.”

Hunger darkened Hannibal’s face in an instant.

“He should be punished,” Will rasped, voice suddenly leaving him. “He can’t keep her from us.”

“No, he can’t.” Hannibal lifted a hand to Will’s cheek with a soft sweep of nails and fingertips.

Will knew he had lost control of the situation entirely when he couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. “That’s not fair, Hannibal.”

“I didn’t realize you were familiar with the concept.” Hannibal’s eyes were soft while he absently ran a thumb over Will’s stubble. “Did you include this in your plan? Did you want my anger?”

“It was a consideration,” Will admitted.

Hannibal smiled. “You said once that you feel out of control with me. Is that still true?”

Will didn’t bother to answer. The truth was easily measured in the space between his lips and the pace of his heart. His eyes slid closed automatically when Hannibal leaned closer. The kiss was painfully gentle and far too short. Will shamelessly tried to chase after it when Hannibal pulled away, but a strong hand pinned him by his chest.

“Will you release me, Will,” Hannibal asked quietly, “before I can’t release you?”

It took all of Will’s strength to slide away from Hannibal, and even just a foot away, the distance seemed too much. He was playing a losing game. The pieces were all arranged how he meant them, and yet the closer he got to victory, the more he wanted to surrender. There was no winning with Hannibal. There was just...tolerating.

Hannibal got in his car and pulled out, so Will returned to the courtroom. Jack and Alana gave him inquisitive looks when he took his seat next to them. He just offered a reassuring smile.

They were on a short break to let the jurors use the bathroom and stretch their legs. The defense lawyer pulled her briefcase onto the table and opened it to shuffle through the files within. She abruptly stopped when she came to a manila envelope. Will forced himself not to watch too closely while she emptied the contents onto the table.

Abigail shot to her feet, knocking her chair back with a loud crash. The lawyer covered her nose with a sleeve. All eyes fell on them and then the severed fingers of Annie Kirwan lying on the table.

“I think I got your mail,” the lawyer mumbled with a glance at Abigail.

Will smiled while the attention wasn’t on him. Hannibal wasn’t the only one who got to have fun. 

#

“Is there any reason you’re referring Hannibal’s patients to me?” Alana demanded through the receiver. “He was having a hard enough day, don’t you think?”

Will absently stirred the stew simmering in the pot on his stove. His neck ached from holding the phone with his shoulder. “I have my reasons.”

“Are you two fighting? Are you… Well… I mean, what are you two?”

Good question. “Partners in crime.”

“I’m being serious, Will.”

So was he. “I don’t know, Alana. We had a thing a while ago, and then we had a falling out. And now things are… I don’t know.”

She was quiet a long moment. “You must really like him to be okay with that kind of uncertainty. You hate uncertainty.”

“Yeah, well, purgatory is growing on me.” He heard Jia scoff from the dining room.

“You’re not still seeing him for therapy, are you?”

“Well, I was never really seeing him for therapy in the first place. Most of the time we just talk, say the things that can’t be said anywhere else.” He took a breath as an annoying bout of yearning hit him. “Can it be therapy if my therapist confesses his damage, too?”

“Not usually.” She still sounded skeptical, but it wasn’t like she could argue a legal precedent. Nothing was on paper.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“In most things. Why?”

“You should take on Margot Verger as your patient.”

She sighed and didn’t respond immediately. When she did, her voice was soft and hesitant. “All right. I trust you.”

Jia padded out of the kitchen just as the dogs started rumbling. “Someone’s here,” she said. “Don’t know the car. Sounds kind of like Dr. Lecter’s but rougher.”

“I’ve got to go, Alana. Let me know what happens with Verger.” He hung up and headed for the front door. 

The car that pulled up to his house was a Bentley. Margot Verger stepped out, still wearing those needle-thin stilettos. 

“Hi,” she greeted as she climbed the steps of his porch. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we talked outside Dr. Lecter’s office this morning.”

“I remember,” he said cautiously. “How did you find me?”

“Well, you are kind of famous. Freddie Lounds did a piece on you and the Minnesota Shrike, right?”

He briefly entertained the idea of asking Hannibal to kill Freddie Lounds. “‘Unhinged, unpredictable, and unstable’ were her exact words.” He shrugged. “I think I’m all of those around Hannibal.”

“He really did a number on you then.” She sounded almost sympathetic.

“He drives me crazy. I think it stopped being figurative months ago.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not exactly anonymous yourself, Ms. Verger.”

“Margot,” she corrected. “Did you sneak a peek inside Dr. Lecter’s calendar?”

He shook his head. “Dr. Bloom is also a friend of mine. She was berating me earlier for referring Hannibal’s patients to her.”

“A bit unconventional, you have to admit.” She had a small smile. “Dr. Lecter didn’t seem surprised when I told him what you did.”

Will had the thought that he needed to try harder then, but maybe that wasn’t the area their relationship needed spicing up.

“Dad?”

He turned just as Jia stepped out. “Sorry,” he said. “A friend decided to visit. This is Margot. Margot, this is my daughter, Jia.”

Jia inhaled and immediately asked, “Do you work with horses, Margot?”

Margot’s smile seemed to surprise her, sitting awkwardly on her lips. “I do. I have my own stables.”

Will held the front door open. “C’mon,” he urged. “It’s cold out.”

Jia trotted in, and Margot followed when Will gestured for the door. Jia returned to the dining room, probably to resume reading. She either wasn’t curious about Margot or was giving Will privacy. He was grateful in any regard for her intuitiveness.

Margot followed him into the kitchen, shedding her coat as she went. He poured her a glass of whiskey, assuming that was her drink of choice. She took the glass gratefully.

“What is the heir to the Verger Meat Packing dynasty doing at my door?” Will prompted before he pulled a set of bowls out of a cabinet.

“Oh, my brother is the heir,” she said, “not me. I have the wrong parts and the wrong proclivity for parts.”

Will nodded and prodded a piece of beef in the stew. It was almost done. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Came for a character reference from someone who knows Dr. Lecter well.” Her stare was piercing on him. “What do you think of Dr. Lecter’s therapy?”

Will shrugged, but didn’t laugh. That was mean. “Depends what you’re in therapy for.”

“Oh, I’m in therapy for all kinds of reasons.” She sipped her whiskey. “The Vergers slaughter eighty-six thousand cattle a day and thirty-six thousand pigs, depending on the season, but that’s just the public carnage.”

“And what’s your private carnage?” Will asked, honestly curious now.

She took another sip. “I tried to kill my brother.”

Will didn’t even bat an eye. “Well, I assume he had it coming.”

“Did he ever.” She stared at the contents of her glass a moment. “What’s your private carnage?”

Will hummed tersely. “I almost murdered Dr. Lecter.”

She blinked. “I don’t know if breakups get much messier than that. Did he have it coming?”

“What do you think?”

“I can’t say that I know.”

“Neither can I.” Will prodded the meat again. Satisfied, he started ladling out the stew into the bowls. 

She sipped her whiskey. “We have some very similar issues. Although I doubt that Dr. Lecter gave you the same advice on murder that he gave me.”

Will couldn’t wait to hear this. “And what’s that?”

“He said, ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’”

Will finished ladling out the stew. “I can’t say that he gave me that advice while I was pointing a gun at his head, but that isn’t even the worst fight we had.”

She studied his face for a moment. “And what is the worst fight?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll hear about it when it’s over. Doesn’t matter if he wins or I do. It’ll make headlines either way.” He pushed a bowl toward her before taking the other two. “Jia! Food’s ready!”

Margot followed him into the dining room. Jia sat at her usual corner, braille book sitting in the chair at the table’s head. Will took a seat beside her and set their bowls down. Margot sat across from them.

“Sorry for interrupting dinner,” she said. “It smells delicious.”

Jia took a spoonful and blew on it. “Are you pregnant, Margot?”

Will nudged her. “Jia, that’s not appropriate,” he chastised.

“I am,” Margot answered with a curious look. “How could you tell?”

“Pregnant people smell different, sweeter and a little sour.” Jia tilted her head back and forth. “Kind of bloody.”

Margot chuckled. “Impressive. I’m not even showing yet.”

“Well, even if you were, I wouldn’t have known from that.” Jia’s smile was toothy. “Are you the woman Dad referred to Alana?”

“That’s me.” Margot absently ran her spoon through her stew. “Do you think I’ll like her?”

“I think so.”

Will sighed and ruffled his daughter’s hair. “Eat your stew,” he said. “You can show off later.”

Jia giggled. “You found me out.”

“You’re not very subtle, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of her head. His eyes caught Margot’s across the table and saw an equal amount of fear and hope.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this one,” he murmured, one parent to a future one. “You’ll see.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WOULD LIKE TO PREFACE THIS CHAPTER WITH THE REMINDER THAT I ONLY WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS.

The scales and blindfold were a nice touch. Will stared and tried not to marvel Hannibal’s work too obviously. The judge hung from chains in the courtroom ceiling. He held scales in one hand and a sword in the other, a mocking of Lady Justice. His heart was on one side of the scales and his brain on the other. A blindfold covered his eyes. The empty cavity of his skull was exposed for all to see the hollowness within.

Tasteful. Elegant. Bold. Hannibal had outdone himself with this one.

“So it appears the judge was murdered in his chambers,” Jack said, “and then he was hauled out here to be put on display.”

He stood with Will in front of the judge while the forensics team took their samples and pictures. 

“Not only is justice blind,” Will mumbled. “It’s mindless and heartless.”

“How did the killer get so close?” Jack asked with a sigh.

Beverly came up to them. “No sign of a struggle,” she reported. “Mutilation was post-mortem.”

Price pried the judge’s robes open. “There are flowers where the judge’s heart was,” he said and pulled one out with forceps. The vibrant red of the petals contrasted with white edges.

Zeller leaned over to look at them, and then his eyes shot to Will. “Ah, this is...sweet William.”

Will’s heart skipped a beat, and he hoped the heat in his cheeks didn’t show.

“A taunt or admiration?” Jack mused. “What’s your read, Will?”

The only element that Will could claim as the Ripper’s was the pure showmanship of the kill. His usual markers—ante-mortem mutilation and organ trophies—weren’t present, which was almost certainly deliberate. Everything about this murder read to Will like the Ripper, but it’d be hard to make an empirically based claim about it.

“It’s both,” Will said. “That the flowers were where the heart was indicates a degree of...romance...but some of the elements of the Ripper are missing. It’s a challenge and an acknowledgement of...infatuation...veneration.” He glanced at the flower in Zeller’s hand. “Honor.”

Jack arched a brow. “You think the Ripper did this, and that he’s in love with you? Is that really what you’re speculating?”

Oh, Will didn’t need to speculate. He knew. “The Ripper likes his metaphors, Jack. The judge is covered in them.” He let his eyes wander over the body, imagining Hannibal’s deft hands putting all the pieces together. “The Ripper knows we’re getting closer to him. He’s daring me to come after him and acknowledging me as worthy of him. It’s both love letter and provocation.”

Beverly scoffed. “He’s going to have to fight Lecter for you.” When everyone stared at her, she muttered, “Oh, fuck. He might go after Lecter.”

“We should put an armed escort on him,” Jack said with a tired sigh. “Just to be safe.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Will mumbled. His heart pounded in his ears. 

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Everyone was looking at Will. He had to make a decision, no matter how much it’d hurt.

Jack seemed to pick up on the weight behind Will’s silence. He called for forensics to clear the room, save for the immediate team. They filed out, leaving him with Will, Beverly, Zeller, and Price. The quiet was crushing.

Will took a breath. The air burned his throat.

“I think Hannibal is the Ripper,” he said softly. “I’ve suspected for a while actually.”

The amount of eyebrows that went up made his stomach turn. A tense silence fell over all of them. Beverly was the one to break it.

“Jesus fuck, Will,” she breathed. “Are you saying you’ve been fucking Lecter while thinking he’s the goddamn Chesapeake Ripper?”

Jack seemed similarly baffled. “Do you have any evidence? Why Lecter?”

Will took a breath. “I don’t have anything concrete. He’s too good for that. I first thought something was off when Jia insisted on having him as her therapist the first time they met. She recognized his voice, I’m sure, but she never told me. I only found out because she’d apparently been calling him a ‘funny man’ to his face. That’s what she used to call the Ripper when she was younger. But Hannibal didn’t know that. No one really but me knew that. So when Hannibal said that she’d been calling him a funny man, I… Well, maybe that was Jia’s way of telling me without telling me.”

“So you...dated him?” Zeller said incredulously. “How is that rational?”

One, two, three, four, five…

“It was too late by the time I realized,” Will mumbled brokenly.

Beverly’s eyes were wide when she asked, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

He stared at the floor. “Because I don’t have anything. Jia won’t admit that she knows. She feels like she owes the Ripper her life.” He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “I still don’t have any real evidence, but I… I see it.”

Jack ran a hand over his face and took two deep breaths. “Lecter tried to make me think you were the copycat right before Annie Kirwan was killed,” he said. “Misdirection. Do you think he suspects you know?”

“Oh, he knows I know. He won’t say it aloud, doesn’t trust me that much yet, but he thinks I could accept him as he is.” Will’s hands were balled into fists in his pockets. “He’s trying to make me into his ideal partner.”

Beverly seemed to be the only one who noticed the pain on Will’s face. She came up to him and clasped his shoulder gently. “You really fell for him, didn’t you?” she murmured. “God, Will. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to keep doing this. We can draw him out some other way.”

“No, Bev, it has to be me.” He could hardly get the words out. “I’m the only bait he’ll take.”

“Oh, honey.” She lifted her hand from his shoulder to his jaw.

He refused to cry.

“He’s right,” Jack mumbled, seemingly more to himself than anyone else. “He stands the best chance of making Lecter slip up.”

“Jack, he’s—” Beverly started.

“I can make him trust me,” Will interrupted. “I can lure him out into the open.”

Jack nodded curtly. “And we’ll be there to catch him.” He glanced at the judge. “We can talk about this more in my office. Let’s finish up here.”

Numbness settled into Will’s skin as Jack headed for the doors to let forensics back in.

“You still care about him,” Beverly whispered, too softly for anyone else to hear. “Will, if you do this…”

He took her hand from his jaw and held it between them. “It’s okay, Bev. I don’t think my heart can break any more than it has already.” A chuckle escaped him, but it was a borderline sob. “You know, no one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

He buried his face in her hair and squeezed his eyes shut. But no tears slipped out. Hannibal didn’t deserve them. 

#

The knock that came on Hannibal’s office door wasn’t unexpected. Will’s ferocity was. As soon as Hannibal had opened the door, Will was on him. Their lips crashed together gracelessly, but that didn’t slow Will at all. He locked the door behind himself a moment before Hannibal pushed him into it. The moan that came up Will’s throat was heavenly.

“I got the flowers,” Will whispered when Hannibal pulled back to breathe. “They were beautiful.”

“Not half as lovely as you.” Hannibal felt fevered when Will kissed him again.

The winter’s chill had gotten to Will’s lips and cheeks, but both were rapidly gaining warmth. Desperate hands clawed at Hannibal’s pants, trying to get his slacks open. He took them and pinned them to the door on either side of Will’s head. The frustrated groan that earned was musical.

“Please,” Will begged shamelessly. “Please, Hannibal.”

That voice would haunt Hannibal’s dreams for years. He released Will, only to drop to his knees. A shaky breath escaped Will while Hannibal unzipped his jeans. There was already a hard line straining against Will’s boxers, and Hannibal mouthed at it. Will whimpered. The sound shot straight through Hannibal, heating through his veins with a high better than any opiate could achieve.

Will fisted a hand in Hannibal’s hair. The other went to his mouth, stifling the little sounds that left him. Hannibal pulled Will’s boxers down, so there was no fabric between them. Will’s head snapped back against the door when Hannibal swallowed him down. A violent tremor ran through Will. He seemed ready to break at any moment, like he’d barely kept himself together since before he’d arrived. Had the display with the judge really affected him so much?

Hannibal used lips and tongue and teeth to draw as many sounds from Will as possible. It seemed like Will was hanging on by a thread, completely lost to this one moment. His knees shook. Every breath left him harshly. The muscles in his neck all strained beneath his skin. And Hannibal watched, rapt and intent to bleed every ounce of pleasure from Will. The judge had been his obeisance to Will, but this was his privilege, his right, his claim.

Will gave word of warning that Hannibal didn’t heed, and then he spilled, hot and bitter, over Hannibal’s tongue. His legs seemed to want to give out under him as the pulses of his climax ebbed. The fabric at Hannibal’s knees was doubtlessly wrinkled, but he couldn’t bring himself to care while he rose to his feet. Will melted into him at the first press of their lips. Hannibal could virtually taste the desire on Will’s breath, how desperate he still was.

“I need you,” Will rasped. “Please.”

Hannibal’s brows furrowed as he wondered at this sudden voraciousness. “I don’t have lubricant in my office.”

Will pulled a small bottle from inside his coat and pushed it into Hannibal’s hand. “Please.”

There really was no use in trying to deny Will. Hannibal pulled him to the sofa and laid him over it. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Undressing took all of a few seconds with Will nearly ripping off every clothing item like it’d personally offended him. Hannibal took a moment to kiss the expanse of chest under him before sliding his fingers in Will. The mark on Will’s shoulder was still dark, save for the yellowing edges. It sat in stark contrast to the pale skin around it.

“Please,” he kept saying—or rather begging. “Please. Please.”

Hannibal kissed the pleas from him as he withdrew his fingers. Will was practically sobbing by the time Hannibal slid into him. His whole body trembled. He clung and clawed at Hannibal’s back, leaving lines of red that’d be there tomorrow. And when Hannibal encircled his arms around Will, cradling him, the clawing threatened to break skin.

They were touching at every possible point, and it didn’t seem enough to Will who was wrapped so tightly around Hannibal that it was painful. Fear of losing something then. But what was Will afraid to lose and why?

Hannibal gave. He thrust into Will with everything he had and whispered sweet words of praise. He gave because it was what Will needed, requested in urgent hands and choked pleas. He gave and gave and gave.

Will shattered. A cry tore from his mouth to disappear into Hannibal’s skin. His body shuddered and tensed until it was too much. Hannibal chased his own release in the vice that was Will. It was only a few thrusts more, and then Will seemed to rip it from him in the tension of his muscles. They moved together until the pulses subsided, until Hannibal could feel the burn of his back and smell the bite of blood drawn.

He didn’t try to move away until Will’s hold lessened, and even then, he only shifted onto his side. The sofa wasn’t made for two people. Hannibal avoided falling off by sliding closer to the center while pulling Will atop him. Their legs tangled. Will immediately pressed his face to Hannibal’s chest with a sigh.

They lay in silence, skin sticky with sweat and their sex. Hannibal absently ran his fingers through Will’s curls. There was a sort of peace in the aftermath that hadn’t been present during their love-making. Will was still tense, but it was gradually easing from him while he listened to Hannibal’s heartbeat.

“Jack wants to put an armed escort on you,” Will mumbled abruptly. “He’s worried whoever killed the judge and left the sweet William is going to be jealous.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched. “Well, I appreciate the consideration.”

Will’s brows lowered. “It’s going to be annoying to maintain privacy. I’m already uncomfortable with everyone knowing our business.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you made me your alibi for the evening, my dear Will.” Hannibal smoothed a thumb over Will’s cheek. “Why did you need me so desperately? You seemed to think you’d die otherwise.”

“It felt like that.” Will’s voice was soft and strained. “I have an unhealthy addiction to you. The longer I’m away, the more I need. But too much of you will kill me.”

Hannibal understood the sentiment completely. “My cure is in your venom.”

Will released a long breath. “Do you suffer over me?”

Hannibal agonized over little else these days. “Do you want me to?”

“I want to be the poison in your veins.” Will lifted his head slightly to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

“Are you afraid to lose me, Will?” Hannibal asked bluntly. “Is that what brought you to my door?”

“I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of keeping you.” Will delicately brushed a strand of hair from Hannibal’s forehead. “I’m afraid of who I am with you.”

“And who are you with me?” Hannibal asked, a dark craving rumbling in his gut.

Will’s hand slid down to Hannibal’s neck. “Unshackled.” He pressed down lightly. “Uncontrollable.”

Hannibal was breathing too hard. He wasn’t afraid when the pressure on his neck grew marginally, and then Will kissed him gently, carefully, lovingly. An indefinable poison was laced upon his lips. It seemed too sweet as it crept into Hannibal’s bloodstream and stole his breath. He wanted to taste it over and over again until his soul was stained with it—his own hunger weaponized against him. 

“Tell me,” Will whispered into Hannibal’s mouth. “How do you feel with me?”

Hannibal’s lips twitched as he took Will by the waist and flipped them over. “Godly.”

#

There was a black SUV out front Will’s house when he pulled up with Jia. A man leaned on the car. He clearly came from money, with a real fur coat and polished shoes. His blond hair stuck up wildly, somehow organized in its disarray. There were two other men in black suits—bodyguards probably.

“Stay in the car, Jia,” Will ordered before he climbed out. “Can I help you?”

The wild-haired man stepped forward with a hand extended. “Mr. Graham, isn’t it? Mason Verger. I believe you know my sister.”

Will took in the dark mania radiating out of Mason and had to stop himself from reaching for his gun instead of the extended hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Verger.”

Mason grinned with too many teeth. “Sorry for stopping in so suddenly, but you see, I’m very concerned about my sister. She’s a bit unstable. Would you mind accompanying me to my estate? I’d like to discuss things further.”

Will made the mistake of glancing back at his car. He should have known better, but it was automatic, his paternal instincts betraying him. Mason’s eyes tracked the movement with a predatory precision.

“Ah, you have a daughter, right?” he said gleefully. “She can come, too.”

“We have plans,” Will muttered, even when he knew it’d be futile.

Mason bobbed his head back and forth. “Well, you see. This is pretty important. I must insist.”

Will glanced at the bodyguards. One had a scar across his chin, and the other had FATE tattooed over one eyebrow. They both took guns from their hips and trained them on Will.

“Get the girl,” Mason ordered.

Will moved to stop Scar, but the click of a gun cocking made him freeze. He had to be smarter about this if he and Jia were going to get out unscathed.

Mason waved a hand toward Will. “Search him."

While Scar pulled Jia out of the car, Fate frisked Will, taking his phone, gun, and pocket knife. Then he was shoved in the middle seats of Mason’s SUV along with Jia. Mason climbed in the back with his guards. The chauffeur started the car without prompting.

Will’s heart pounded while he took Jia’s hand over the seat. She clung to it. Her form was rigid, but there was strength in the straight-backed way she sat. She tensed more when Mason swept the hair at the back of her head. Will grabbed his wrist, prompting both guards to train their guns at him.

“Don’t touch her,” Will growled, uncaring if he got shot. There were worse fates. 

Mason withdrew his hand. “I was just admiring her hair,” he said with an unsettling kind of cheer. “It’s very thick.”

Jia reached her hand out until she found Will’s hand again. He let her push it down to the seat. Her finger drew a shape in his palm, too quick to track. He flattened his hand, so she could repeat the motion.

C. A. L. L. E. D. H.

She pressed her other hand to her scarf. A rigid shape appeared under the fabric as she pulled it taut, but as soon as she released it, the fabric returned to its loose shape. She’d hidden her phone in her scarf and had called H. Hannibal? Since when had she gotten his number? Well, it didn’t matter now.

Her finger moved over his palm again. C. A. N. H. E. A. R.

The call was still open.

“What’s so important that we need to talk at your estate, Mr. Verger?” Will asked aloud, hoping that his voice would carry through the phone.

“Oh, you need to see the facilities,” Mason said. “I’m very proud of our slaughterhouse, Mr. Graham. I think you and your daughter will enjoy it.”

So he either meant to kill Will or threaten his life. What did this have to do with Margot, though?

Jia drew one letter on his palm. P.

Pregnant. Margot was pregnant. He’d thought that a bit odd for a lesbian, but he’d just assumed she’d found a donor. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she’d gotten pregnant the old-fashioned way, and her brother was trying to figure out who the father was. Maybe her pregnancy threatened Mason in some way. 

“Your sister isn’t interested in my gender,” Will pointed out, “and I’m spoken for.”

Mason chuckled, but it sounded wrong, too harsh and too loud. “Oh? I heard you were a single parent. Is there a girlfriend?”

“I think he’d resent being called that.”

Mason’s chuckle was louder. “Well, my sister got a bun in the oven from someone, and if she can take it from the wrong gender, I think you can give it, Mr. Graham.”

The crudeness made Will’s jaw clench. Hopefully Jia wouldn’t pick up on the euphemisms. She probably would, though. She usually did.

“I really must emphasize, Mr. Verger,” Will said with deceptive calm, “that if you put your hands on my daughter, you will die.”

Mason scoffed. “You could try to kill me, Mr. Graham, but you’re a bit outgunned.”

“I never said I’d be the one to kill you.” Will held Jia’s hand tightly, and she squeezed back. 

They just had to hold out. After all, Hannibal wouldn’t allow anyone but himself to kill Will.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the song "Thorns on a Rose//Roots" by The Citrus Clouds::
> 
> https://youtu.be/ClTUvC1wpuc
> 
> I shouldn't let this go too far  
> Before I know what you are  
> All that's promised right now is scars  
> 'Cause I know you're capable, I know you won't play fair  
> A temptress will never play fair  
> You lured me in now we're here, as I feared

Hannibal had spent the afternoon cleaning his sofa. He wasn’t fond of sex in his office for the exact reason that he had to clean up quickly for his patients, but Will seemed to be the exception in all things. They were growing closer. It was as thrilling as it was terrifying. Hannibal was too aware of the power he’d given Will over him. With greater attachment came the greater possibility of the kind of heartbreak that filled the tragedies of the ancient world. A breakup between them would be...catastrophic.

His pencil moved carefully over the paper, carving out the lines of lips pulled apart in breathless rapture. Will was as ardent in life as he was in bed, but only when he was tangled with Hannibal did he lose all semblance of restraint. Passion incarnate. Fire and fury. Power. He was awe-some in the original sense of the word. If only he let himself grow into the creature of myth that Hannibal saw in him.

The buzz of Hannibal’s phone took his attention. Jia’s name flashed over the screen. He held it up to his ear, curious what she could want.

“Hello, Jia,” he answered.

There was no answer immediately, just some rustling. “There’s people outside our house,” she said softly.

His stomach dropped. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know. Dad’s talking to them, but I have a bad feeling. He told me to wait in the car in the voice he usually uses when something is really wrong.”

“Should I call the police?”

“I don’t know if they’re going to be fast enough, Dr. Lecter.” There was more rustling. “I hear someone coming.”

Hannibal grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and immediately headed out of his office. He put the phone on speaker, so he could hear while he got into his car. 

“Get out,” a deep, male voice growled.

“Why?” Jia asked. “Who are you?”

“I said get out.”

Hannibal started for Wolf Trap, his heart in his throat. The worry sat cold and unwelcome upon his shoulders. It only got worse when his back burned against the chair where Will had scratched him. 

“Search him,” a nasally voice said.

There were several more seconds of rustling and some grunts. Car doors slammed. 

“Don’t touch her,” Will growled abruptly, cutting through relative silence.

“I was just admiring her hair,” the nasally voice twittered. “It’s very thick.”

More rustling.

“What’s so important that we need to talk at your estate, Mr. Verger?” Will asked, incorporating all the elements Hannibal needed for a location.

Mason Verger must have been behind this. Hannibal turned his car toward the Verger estate. He’d probably make it there before Mason’s entourage if they were coming from Wolf Trap.

“Oh, you need to see the facilities,” Mason said. “I’m very proud of our slaughterhouse, Mr. Graham. I think you and your daughter will enjoy it.”

Hannibal recalled a conversation where he suggested to Margot a way to get around her father’s stipulation that the heir needed to be male. She’d successfully gotten pregnant then. Did Mason think it was Will’s? Was it Will’s? The very thought sent an unpleasant jealousy through his arms, like spiders under his skin.

“Your sister isn’t interested in my gender,” Will said evenly, “and I’m spoken for.”

Mason chuckled, or rather cackled. “Oh? I heard you were a single parent. Is there a girlfriend?”

“I think he’d resent being called that.”

Hannibal’s anger died down. If Will had been the father, he would have made the claim. He didn’t hide from his responsibilities, least of all a child.

Mason’s cackle was cacophonous. “Well, my sister got a bun in the oven from someone, and if she can take it from the wrong gender, I think you can give it, Mr. Graham.”

The crudeness was disgusting, especially in front of a child. Jia probably didn’t care, but it was the principle of the thing.

When Will spoke again, Hannibal could hear the well-contained wrath in the smoothed syllables.

“I really must emphasize, Mr. Verger,” Will intoned, “that if you put your hands on my daughter, you will die.”

Mason scoffed. “You could try to kill me, Mr. Graham, but you’re a bit outgunned.”

“I never said I’d be the one to kill you.”

Hannibal smiled at that. Did Will know that the call was still open? He must have. His words were too pointed, too deliberate. They were a clever pair, Jia and Will. Mason might have had a plethora of resources at his disposal, but left to their own devices, Jia and Will could do some significant damage. Jia might struggle more with her lack of sight. It hadn’t stopped her much, though, in all the time Hannibal had known her.

He put her call on hold and called Margot.

“Dr. Lecter?” she answered confusedly.

“Your brother has Will and his daughter,” Hannibal explained without preamble. “They’re on their way to your estate.”

The line was quiet a moment. “You’re not coming to get them, are you?”

“I’m twenty minutes away.”

“Fuck. Okay. There’s an entrance through the stables that goes past the electrical room at the slaughterhouse. If anyone asks who you are, just say you’re making a house call to me. I’ll tell the guards you’re safe personnel.”

“Thank you. And, Margot, for your sake, I sincerely hope Will and Jia are unharmed.” He hung up and listened in to Jia’s call again. 

The line was quiet, save for the occasional shift of fabric, which was just as well. Hannibal had all the essential information.

He was most concerned about Jia. Margot claimed her brother’s preferred sins ran young, and Jia was particularly vulnerable. She could survive a lot. He didn’t think it beneficial that she have to just yet. Proper child development required nurturing, rather than pain. More trauma might set back her growth and perhaps push her in the wrong direction.

Hannibal took the gun from his glovebox and tucked it into his coat. This should be interesting.

#

Will wasn’t sure what to expect when Mason’s men dragged him and Jia into the large swine facilities. The stone building he found himself in was spacious. Squeals and grunts of the caged pigs echoed against the walls. Mason deposited them onto a platform looking over the enclosures. There were more guards here, all armed.

Mason sucked his teeth. “You aren’t very handsome, Mr. Graham. Margot could have chosen a better donor.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Will demanded.

“He’s going to get rid of the baby,” Jia mumbled. “He wants you to know it because he thinks it’s yours.”

Mason’s smirk was chilling. “You have a very smart daughter, Mr. Graham,” he drawled. “How old is she?”

Will was growing more and more fearful of Mason’s intentions with Jia. She seemed to sense it, too, as her knuckles went white with how tightly she gripped the bottom of her shirt.

“What do you want with us?” Will asked, trying to stall until he figured out a plan.

Mason prowled around them like a vulture. “Well, Mr. Graham, at first I was just going to give a warning, but I see now that you’re more interesting than just some guy who knocked up my sister. Did you adopt your daughter? Or was her mother Oriental?”

Jia grimaced at the slur. “I was adopted,” she answered, voice cold.

He nodded. “And you like living with your new daddy? Does he treat you well?”

“Well, I’m not getting hit, so I think that’s an improvement.” She cocked her head to one side and mumbled something under her breath that sounded like “six.”

Mason chuckled and pulled a knife from inside his coat. “I like you, little girl. I bet your dad loves you a lot, too. My dad loved me a lot.”

Will’s stomach twisted. “Stay away from her,” he hissed.

“Or what, Mr. Graham?” Mason waved a hand, and then two guards shoved Will face first into the floor, pinning him.

He flailed futilely, but he could hardly breathe under the weight bearing down on him. Mason stalked toward Jia. She definitely heard him, but she stood tall and firm, back straight. He held the blade lightly against her throat.

“Your dad’s a good guy, isn’t he?” he said in a singsong voice as he put his face right up to hers. “You’re going to be good, too, right?”

She arched a contemptuous brow. “No.” 

A bang echoed through the room a moment before all the lights cut out, sending them into inky darkness. 

“Get the fucking lights ba—” Mason’s voice was cut off by his strangled scream.

The guards were yelling. Will couldn’t see in the black to determine where Jia was, but he didn’t have to. Warmth abruptly spilled over his back. The men atop him choked and gurgled, presumably on their own blood.

“Three!” Jia called into the dark.

Will wriggled out from the limp bodies over him just as the lights flicked back on. Jia stood beside him, Mason’s knife in her hand. Blood dripped off the blade and stained her clothes. A ring of it encircled her mouth. The dead guards were still choking. Long cuts ran across their throats. Mason lay nearby. Both his cheeks had been sliced through. His top lip and his nose were missing, bitten through it seemed, and then spat back out. The flesh lay on the floor by Jia’s feet. 

Will saw Hannibal a moment before the remaining guards did. He grabbed Jia and pressed her to the floor under him. Hannibal had snuck up behind a guard. He had a gun to the guy’s temple. His eyes found Will’s a moment before he pulled the trigger. The two remaining guards fired, hitting their dead comrade repeatedly. Will grabbed a gun off one of the dead guards and returned fire.

They went down. 

Hannibal dropped his human shield and came closer to Mason who writhed on the ground while trying to hold his face together. 

“Were you aiming for his neck, dear?” Hannibal asked lightly.

Jia shrugged as she and Will got to their feet. “He moved,” she offered in explanation.

Will wiped her mouth with his shirt. “Did you have to bite him?”

“He was too close. I didn’t like it.” She swatted Will’s hands away when he got to her cheeks. “He’s like Mr. Kirwan. I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt me like that again.”

A dark kind of pride welled in Will’s chest that he pushed down.

“And what should we do with him?” Hannibal prompted with a gesture to the man in question.

“Well, I’m not going to kill him,” Will muttered with a note of annoyance. He was tired.

“He was going to hurt Jia,” Hannibal pointed out, “and then you.” His eyes turned to the offender in question. “Isn’t that right, Mason?”

The growl that left Mason was more a gurgle.

Hannibal looked to Will again, as if expecting his point to be validated.

Will’s lips twitched. Honestly, he just didn’t feel like dealing with the problem when Hannibal had perfectly capable hands. “Won’t Margot be left destitute if he dies? She’s your patient, Doctor. You should do what you think is best for her.”

Hannibal looked to Mason, sighed, and then bent down. Will watched with no small amount of anticipation and satisfaction while Hannibal snapped Mason’s neck. Jia’s face scrunched up at the noise.

“Shall we?” Hannibal said with a gesture toward the door.

Will put Jia’s hand on his elbow as he started forward. “The thing with the lights was clever,” he commented. “For whose benefit was that?”

Hannibal glanced at Jia. “Well, it was originally for mine, but I didn’t take into consideration that your daughter is used to navigating the world without sight. Darkness is to her advantage.”

“I heard you coming,” she said. “Your steps are very even, Dr. Lecter.”

He smoothed a hand over her hair affectionately. “I’ve missed you, dear girl.”

She beamed.

A complex tangle of feelings welled up in Will, as it always did when Hannibal so effortlessly held Jia’s affection. Could a serial killer be a loving parent? That seemed to go against everything Will knew about the world, but what he knew about the world didn’t have much meaning anymore anyway. Hell, Jia had just killed two people without a second thought. It would have been three if her aim had been better. And where was Will’s misgivings about that? Should he be worried she might also become a serial killer? Did it mean something about him that he wasn’t worried?

There was real affection in Hannibal’s eyes as he stared down at Jia. He wanted to be important to her, wanted to help raise her, wanted to be a father. Will didn’t know if Hannibal truly knew what that meant or if his curiosity around parenthood was his primary motivation. Hannibal seemed to have empathy for specific people—people deemed worthy of it. Whether or not he acted on his empathy was a whole other conversation, but he wasn’t completely bereft of compassion.

“Why’d you come, Hannibal?” Will asked because he had to know. “You didn’t have to.”

The look that Hannibal gave him could only be described as clement. “I want to preserve our family, Will. I want to see Jia grow and flourish. I want to see you flourish.”

Will knew the words were genuine. His chest felt as though it were being crushed by the honesty. “But why? Why would you want that?”

Hannibal’s smile was almost teasing. “I should think it obvious.”

The air in Will’s lungs vanished. Making Hannibal grow attached to him had been part of the plan, but Will wasn’t supposed to want it so desperately. But he did. He could see it even now—the family they’d make, terrible and beautiful. Hannibal would cultivate Jia’s mind. He’d fill it with high literature and strategy and psychology. And Will would teach Abigail how to fish, how to observe, how to put the missing pieces into the picture. Their daughters would know nothing but freedom and strength.

“Let’s go home,” Hannibal murmured. “Someone told me my water pressure is heavenly, and I think Ms. Jia has earned a shower after her performance today.”

#

The bathtub was big enough for four people. Will felt lost in it. He had scrubbed all the blood and grime off Jia and himself in the shower before getting in, which was how he found himself surrounded by russet tile walls and marble floors. Hannibal was the one who’d insisted on also having a bath while he cooked dinner. So Will sat in warm water that smelled of lavender and eucalyptus with his daughter. She sat between his legs while he massaged her head absently. 

They hadn’t spoken much since coming to Hannibal’s home. That was probably for the best. Will was tired—the kind of tired that penetrated his bones and filled them with lead. He didn’t know what would come out of his mouth, probably nothing good.

“I killed two people,” Jia said abruptly, snapping the silence that had stretched to breaking like a rubberband.

Will’s fingers froze in her hair. “Yes.”

“Does that make me bad?”

“No.”

“Does it make me bad if I’m glad they’re dead?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “If it does, then I’m also bad.”

She leaned against his chest with a sigh. “I don’t mind being bad.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to fill the bathroom. “I was happy when Ba was killed. I was happy when Dr. Lecter killed Mr. Budge. They were bad people.”

“They were.” Will held her tighter. “It feels good to do bad things to bad people.”

“Why?”

He let his eyes open to look at the top of her head. “Because you won.”

She waved her hand through the water, creating little waves on the surface. “Are you going to win against Dr. Lecter, Dad?”

“Yes.” Will stared up at the ceiling. “But it won’t feel good.”

“Because he’s not bad?”

“Because I am.” Will rubbed his eyes and tried not to think about what he was going to do to Hannibal. It’d hurt them both. It’d cut as deep as a mortal wound. It’d break them. And he was going to do it anyway because it was the right thing to do, because his feelings didn’t matter to justice. 

“You’re not bad,” Jia murmured. “You’re in love.”

His chuckle was humorless. “With someone who kills for fun. I don’t think I can justify myself, sweetie.”

She took a breath and let it out slowly. “He does bad things to people he thinks are bad. He punishes. You punish people you think are bad, too.”

“That’s not a good way to live, Jia.” He shoved a hand through his damp hair. “We can’t just punish whoever we want. We have laws.”

“Ninety-nine-point-five percent of rapists walk free. Wealthy people get lighter sentences, if any, while working people are disproportionately incarcerated and fined. African-Americans are incarcerated at five times the rate as whites, but they only make up thirty percent of the US population. Where’s the justice in that? We do have laws, but they don’t work.”

She’d probably memorized those statistics verbatim. Will didn’t need to fact check them to know they were accurate. 

“Are you trying to defend him, Jia?” he asked incredulously. “The justice system may not be perfect, but he kills people for fun.”

“I’m not trying to defend him, but I think...sometimes...that the world would be better off without some people. Like Mr. and Mrs. Kirwan.” She drew her knees up to her chest. “Like Ba.”

He ran a hand down his face and tried to breathe.

“He’d change who he kills...for you,” she said abruptly.

Will’s chuckle was broken. “I don’t want him to kill for me.”

She rested her chin on her knees. “Yes, you do. You wanted to watch him hurt Mason.”

He really didn’t need to have this conversation with a ten-year-old. “Jia, don’t. Please.”

“He’d do it,” she whispered.

Will’s brows furrowed when he figured out what she was getting at. “You want to use him, don’t you? He’s not a chess piece, Jia. He could hurt us.”

“He could protect us, too, like he did today.” Her nails bit into her arms. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone hurt me like Ba did again. And Dr. Lecter makes me feel safe.”

Will was not at all equipped to talk about this. She wasn’t wrong. Hannibal could have been a source of protection, but that couldn’t justify keeping him. He wasn’t a dog they could domesticate and weaponize.

“Why?” Will asked after a lengthy pause.

“Because I know how he thinks. I know how to talk to him. Ba didn’t listen. He just hit me because he was angry. Mr. Kirwan hurt me because he was afraid. Dr. Lecter wouldn’t do that.”

Will couldn’t refute that. Hannibal was too careful to lash out so recklessly in any scenario. Still, the core of Jia’s argument was that she could negotiate her safety with a serial killer, and Will abhorred how reasonable that was. She shouldn’t be considering anything like this.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I know how hard this is for you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s okay.” He smoothed her hair back. “I always want to know what you’re thinking.”

She leaned into him. “He deserves to be punished. I know that.”

Will sighed and gathered her into his arms, the way he did when she was little. “Don’t think about it. I’ll handle everything.”

She just nodded in answer.

They sat in the bath together for a few minutes more. Will felt marginally more like a person when he got out and toweled Jia off before himself. Hannibal had given them pajamas—a silk set for Will and a black nightgown for Jia. Will didn’t need to help Jia dress since her gown had a tag that could be felt. She waited quietly while he dressed, and then they headed downstairs.

Hannibal already had dinner on the table. It was fish, probably to reassure Will that soylent green wasn’t people. They still needed to have a conversation about boundaries in that regard, but Will wasn’t...opposed.

“Did you both have a good bath?” Hannibal asked as he gestured for them to take a seat.

“Yes,” Will answered curtly. He guided Jia to a chair with a plate, but didn’t sit himself. Instead, he rounded the table and grabbed the fabric of Hannibal’s sweater to bring them together. Their foreheads met. Hannibal immediately pressed into Will like he was made to fit there.

“Thank you,” Will murmured. “You saved her again.”

“She saved herself,” Hannibal corrected and trailed his knuckles over Will’s jaw. 

The implication wasn’t lost on Will. Hannibal was taking this as a moment of growth for Jia, another instance where she could stand on her own two feet and charge her own path. He wanted to see her flourish. Will didn’t want the area of growth to be murder, but he couldn’t deny that lethal force was a usefull skill for a blind girl. The statistics of abuse for women with disabilities was staggering.

“If anything happens to her,” Will said without accusation or ire, “even if it isn’t by your hand, I will kill you.”

Hannibal seemed to understand the threat for what it was. “I’ll protect her.” He sealed the promise with a kiss, and Will knew it to be as binding as a vow, another tether between them. Jia was theirs to honor, the same way Abigail was. 

Their family would be whole soon.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the song "Home" by The New Coast:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_mt6Eccybo
> 
> When you're not here, I disappear  
> Promise me, you'll guide me home  
> Losing my way, tell me to stay  
> Promise me, you'll guide me home

With the judge’s death, there was a mistrial. The charges dropped completely when the FBI backpedaled on their stance, considering the murder of Annie Kirwan sufficient enough evidence to suggest the copycat was still at large and was possibly also the Ripper—though that last part didn’t leave Jack’s office. Abigail put her foot down about the hospital. She claimed that she associated too many horrible things with the facility now. Alana probably knew it was a manipulation, but when Will offered his home, she relented under the stipulation to continue biweekly therapy sessions.

Jia didn’t mind sharing her room. In fact, she seemed thrilled about it, never having much concept of personal space or property. Abigail didn’t seem to care, for which Will was grateful. He would convert his downstairs office into a real room for her soon, but for now, she was content to be in Jia’s atmosphere. It was probably good for the both of them to reconnect after so much time apart. The trial had been hard, even if neither of them showed how stressed they’d been about it. They would be inseparable after this, Will knew. The bond forming between them was deep as siblings. No matter what happened to them, they’d be there for each other.

Jia was on winter break until mid-January, but Will didn’t have to call on Alana or Beverly anymore to look after Jia when he was gone. Abigail was home to do it, and she was rapidly falling into a routine, making herself at home. She knew how to cook, and she tidied when she was bored. Will could have gotten used to returning home to dinner and a clean house every day. When he expressed that she wasn’t a maid and didn’t need to work so hard, she just said that she liked her order, and it kept her busy. Jia’s solution was to introduce several mystery novels and psychological thrillers to Abigail’s reading list. It was effective. Abigail was rarely seen without a book in her hands ever since.

Will still worked. He had to. Jack was counting on him to catch Hannibal red-handed, and for all his misgivings about that, Will couldn’t afford to hesitate now. Hannibal would smell it on him. The moment of weakness in Hannibal’s office was the closest he’d come to admitting the truth, but he hadn’t—couldn’t. It was foolish, letting himself fall deeper and deeper into Hannibal’s depths. The truth was, though, that he wasn’t going to come up for air again. There was no life after Hannibal. There was just existence. And he’d sealed his own fate from the first kiss.

“Did you hear about the accident at the Verger estate?” Jack asked as he and Will trudged up a hill through snow.

Will shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “No, what happened?”

Jack shook his head. “Apparently, Mason Verger and five of his bodyguards fell into the pig pens. Mason snapped his neck, paralyzed him from the neck down, and lost part of his face, but he’s alive, which is more than can be said for his guards. There was hardly anything left of them by the time they were fished out.”

Will didn’t smile, didn’t dare show the vicious smugness of it all. No, he just nodded and muttered, “That’s unfortunate.”

Jack glanced at him askance. “You’re quieter than usual. How are you holding up these days?”

Will sighed. “How do you think, Jack? My partner is the Ripper.”

Jack flinched. “Right. Well, if there’s anything you need, I—”

“Are you going to sleep with him instead, Jack?”

Jack grimaced. “No.”

“Then I don’t see what you could possibly do for me, other than help me make a trap.” Besides, the sex was really good, and Will wasn’t the sharing type.

A heavy silence stretched between them for several seconds.

“What I don’t get,” Jack said abruptly, “is why Hannibal would testify for Abigail and then come to her defense.”

The corners of Will’s lips pulled up. “Because I asked him to.”

They reached the top of the hill. The scent of blood was diminished from the cold, but it still hung in the air. Red decorated the snow like brushstrokes on a canvas. Pieces of the corpses lay strewn about the clearing, torn apart as if by an animal.

Will took in everything, the scene passing across his eyes unbidden. Lovers out in the night. He’d been watching them, waiting to strike. The man had been the first target. The woman ran, but she tripped, didn’t get far.

The pendulum swung as he closed his eyes.

He waits in the trees. His stag stands beside him, always with him now. It was shadowed in the dark and dripped black blood from the mess of antlers atop its head.

“Kill.”

The stag charges forward at the order. It gores the man, tearing flesh and sinew from bone. Blood spills across the snow. He revels in it, in the brutality of it. He is a predator unrivaled.

He bites into the woman’s throat just to taste her blood and fear. It fills his mouth and dribbles down his throat. Delectable..

Will’s eyes snapped open. Jack was watching him.

“It’s not an animal,” Will murmured as he stepped toward a severed arm. “It’s a man who wants to be an animal.”

Jack’s sigh was heavy, tired. “Does he believe he’s an animal?”

“It’s not what he believes. It’s what he imagines.”

“Well, what does he want?”

“He wants to maul.” Will looked around at the carnage before he started for the woman’s corpse with Jack. “Nothing personal about this. He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t need to know them. They’re just...meat. Prey.”

“This kind of psychosis,” Jack said cautiously, “doesn’t just slip through the system. Somewhere, someone would have noticed this.”

Will shrugged. “If it is psychosis, he got inside of it somehow, tamed it, made a suit out of it. He’s an engineer, or he understands engineering. He knows how to build. He built his beast. He is a student of predators.”

Even as Will spoke, he could hear himself in the analysis. What kind of beast was he building with Hannibal? Right now, it seemed like the embodiment of wrath, out for blood and vengeance. He didn’t want to tame it, didn’t want peace. He wanted to let it command him.

“Where could we find someone like that?” Jack asked.

Will chewed his lip, hating his answer. “I think Hannibal might know.”

Jack frowned. “I feel like a pimp every time you go to him.”

“Is it prostitution if I go willingly and get no payment?” Will let out a breath, sending it through the air in a puff of white. “Everyone used to ask me if I loved him. They don’t ask me that anymore. They just assume I don’t. How could I, after all, if I’m trying to have him arrested?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You make it sound like you do love him.”

Will started away. “I’ll speak with Hannibal about the killer and get back to you.”

“Wait.”

Will turned to face Jack.

“If it gets to be too much, if you can’t trust yourself anymore, we call it off. Is that clear?”

Will’s smile was sad. “Transparently.”

#

“‘No beast is more savage than man,’” Hannibal said, quoting Plutarch, “‘when possessed with power answerable to his own rage.’”

Will sat on the edge of the desk in the office. He’d come in the afternoon with a new killer on his mind who murdered like an animal—fangs, claws, and all. Hannibal already suspected who it could be, but this was an opportunity to help develop Will’s own beast.

“It’s not rage,” Will said with a note of bitter relatability. “Rage is an emotional response to being provoked. This is something else.”

Hannibal organized his patient notes on the desk. “What is it?”

“Instinct,” Will said with a glance over his shoulder at Hannibal. “It’s the way he thinks.”

“The way any animal thinks depends on limitations of mind and body. If we learn our limitations too soon, we never learn our power.”

“His victims are torn apart. I’d say he learned his power.”

“He claimed his power. Can you imagine tearing someone apart?” Hannibal filed away the notes in a drawer and rounded the desk to sit beside Will. “Or would you prefer to use a gun?”

“Guns lack intimacy,” Will murmured, eyes staring toward the windows but not seeing them.

Hannibal folded his hands in his lap. “You set an event in motion with a gun. You don’t complete it.” He thought of cold metal against his temple. “You fantasized about killing me with your hands. Wouldn’t that be more satisfying than pulling a trigger?”

Will glanced at Hannibal for the first time since he’d walked in. “Yes.”

“Did you kill Annie Kirwan with your hands?” When Will didn’t answer, Hannibal pressed on. “Are you hiding, Will?”

“I wasn’t hiding with Annie Kirwan,” Will said softly.

Hannibal searched Will’s face. “You were hiding, then, behind the gun you placed to my head.”

Will stared ahead wordlessly, his gaze stoney.

“You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will,” Hannibal advised into the silence.

They sat unmoving and quiet for several seconds while Will seemed to contemplate something. It stormed behind his eyes.

“Jia told me it felt good to kill Mason’s men,” he said suddenly, voice jarring in the stillness. “She seems to be far more at peace with her demons than I ever was. She has a strong relationship with her instincts.”

“Children often do. They are not yet shackled by societal expectation.” Hannibal savored the image of Jia covered in blood, her teeth dripping with it. “Her instincts may have saved herself and you.”

“I see more of you in her every day. The day you killed her father and spared her… It’s part of her. You’re part of her.”

A jolt ran through Hannibal when Will finally met his eyes fully.

“You’re part of me.” Will’s eyes narrowed. “My instincts, Hannibal, tell me to embed myself so deeply into you that you couldn’t hope to get rid of me if you wanted.”

Hannibal held the stare, something cautious and curious rising in him simultaneously. “Intimate with the instinct for intimacy?”

Will stood and swept a hand under Hannibal’s chin to lift it. The kiss was brief, chaste—intimate. Affection given outside of sex was a rarity, and Will almost certainly knew the signficance of it now. The knowledge shimmered in his eyes when he straightened.

“I have to get to the BAU,” he said. “Come with me. You’re more connected among psychiatric circles. You could help Jack find who matches our killer’s profile.”

Hannibal couldn’t very well pass up an opportunity to insert himself further into Will’s life. “Let me get my coat.”

#

Will was glad that Price and Zeller were awkward no matter what. They were just as weird around Hannibal now as before. Jack was a good actor in general, and he gave absolutely no indication that anything was off. Beverly was the real problem. She held tension in her shoulders, and she had to force herself not to glare at Hannibal.

They stood in the lab around a table with bear and wolf skulls. Will kept himself between Hannibal and Beverly, if only to keep her out of sight. She was doing a good job right now of focusing on the work, rather than glaring holes into Hannibal, but that could change.

“The closest comparative bite radius we could match to the victim’s wounds,” Zeller explained while pointing to the bear skull, “is a cave bear.”

Price gestured to the wolf skull. “Even the dire wolf, which is the largest species of the genus Canis, is itty-bitty by comparison.”

Beverly shook her head. “But a cave bear did not do this.”

“Mostly because they’re vegetarian,” Price added, “and have been extinct for twenty-eight thousand years.”

She shot him a withering glance. “Mostly because the bite force relative to the skull size doesn’t match the kind of damage we’ve been seeing.”

Jack stared at the skulls. “What could?”

“Pull-ratchets and pneumatics maybe,” Zeller offered. 

“Pretty sophisticated ingenuity for any kind of animal,” Jack grumbled, “man or beast.”

“Animals are far more like humans than we realized,” Hannibal commented with a cursory glance over the skulls. “And humans are far more like animals. One thin barrier between us.”

Jack frowned. “And for some, that barrier is way too thin.”

Will forced himself not to glower at Jack for the jab veiled only by Hannibal’s ignorance.

“How does something like this present, Dr. Lecter?” Jack asked, ever the one to use every advantage afforded to him—serial killer or otherwise.

Hannibal’s eyes were shrewd while he stared at all the teeth in front of him. “Someone affected by this kind of species dysphoria typically has other conditions. Mood disorders, clinical depression, schizophrenia.”

“‘Typically’?”

“They may not present at all.” Hannibal tilted a head curiously. “Your killer could have built a bridge between who he appears to be and what he now knows he’s become.”

Jack shook his head. “He didn’t build a bridge, Doctor. He built a suit.”

Hannibal glanced at Will. “What he seeks is transformation.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

When Hannibal looked uneasily at the present company, Jack pulled him into the hall. Will hung back. He’d suspected that Hannibal would know the killer, if only because the dear psychiatrist’s therapy practices were unorthodox to say the least. No one with this killer’s pathology would have escaped notice, unless the one analyzing him had taught him how.

“How sure are you that he’s the Ripper?” Price whispered, leaning over the table to be heard effectively.

“There is not a doubt in my mind,” Will muttered.

Zeller shook his head. “And you’re still… I mean, like, do you guys…?”

Will arched a brow. “Do we what, Zeller?”

“Ah, well… You know…”

Beverly punched his arm. “That’s none of your business,” she chastised and then looked up at Will. “Okay, but please tell me you’re not.”

His lips twitched. “What’s the definition of trust?”

“Oh! Two cannibals giving each other blowjobs,” Price said like he’d given the correct trivia answer. “I knew that one.”

Zeller groaned. “Jimmy…”

Price blinked, and then his face blanched. “Oh.”

Will couldn’t help the slightly manic chuckle that left him. Beverly elbowed him, but she was smiling.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t resist.”

She folded her arms over her chest, expression becoming hard again. “It’s not right, Will. This feels...dirty.”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “If it makes you feel better, he’s very...attentive.”

“What? No! Ew!” She slapped his shoulder. “I’m trying to be serious here, Will.”

“Well, I think if I get too serious, I’m going to have my fourth existential crisis of the week.”

She glowered at the door Hannibal and Jack had exited through. “There’s got to be a way we can streamline this, something in his house maybe. He’s got to keep the meat somewhere.”

Will went cold. “Stay away from him, Beverly.”

“I can’t just—”

He grabbed her shoulders. “He will kill you. Promise me you’ll stay away, Beverly. Please.”

Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him, but she nodded. “All right.”

He searched her eyes, looking for any hint of a lie, before he released her.

“Just tell me one thing,” she said in a low, almost menacing, voice. “Does he hurt you?”

He shook his head. “No, never.”

Her jaw was tense when she let out a breath. “If he does, I’m putting him in the ground. I promise you that.”

He believed her.

Jack came back in with Hannibal. “Someone get me a profile on Randall Tier,” he said. “He was a former patient of Dr. Lecter’s who might fit the profile we’re looking for. I want to know where the guy lives and works.”

Beverly cast a meaningful look at Will before she went off to do her job. Jack followed after her. Hannibal came up to Will and leaned against the table, a pensive look on his face.

“I get the feeling that Ms. Katz doesn’t like me,” he commented. “Have I done something to offend?”

Will’s heart hammered while he shook his head. “No, she’s just overly protective of me. She wants to know that you’re going to treat me right.”

Hannibal’s lips pulled up. “And what’s the verdict?”

“Jury’s still out, but it looks to be in favor of the accused.” Will lifted a hand, but hesitated, unsure of how much touching he could do in a professional environment. He eventually decided touching hands over the table wasn’t too much.

It was effective in distracting Hannibal from Beverly. His eyes went down to where they touched. “You’ve been liberal in your passive affection lately, but you’re not overly fond of touch to begin with. Something change?”

“Touching you feels nice. I don’t have to stop myself anymore.” Will hated that he didn’t need to lie about that, but trying to deny the depth of his feelings now seemed like the more ridiculous option.

Hannibal turned his hand over, so he could hold Will’s properly. “I quite like it.”

Will felt his edges softening immediately at the small intimacy. “Me, too.”

They sat quietly for a moment. The ambient sounds of the lab faded out. Will was struck with the urge to rest his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, just to feel him near. That definitely would have been crossing the line, though, so he just appreciated the long fingers curled over his hand. 

“Jia’s birthday is coming up next week,” he said, trying for conversation. “She doesn’t want a big party, never does. I think I’m just going to invite her friends over for a sleepover.”

Hannibal thankfully didn’t have the gall to ask if he was invited. Instead, he asked, “Will you pass on a gift to her from me?”

Will nodded. He could permit that much. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

“I appreciate it.” Hannibal ran his thumb over the back of Will’s hand. “How’s Abigail?"

“Adapting. She’s getting restless, I think, from having nothing to do. I encouraged her to apply for the community college nearby—get her sea legs. She’s ready to start living again.” Will let his pride leak into his voice.

“I was impressed with her during the trial. She’s grown stronger...freer.” Something like fondness shone in Hannibal’s eyes. “That was Jia’s doing. She’s a curious creature, your daughter. She seems to have your ability to collect strays, but her inclination isn’t just to keep them. She wants to shore up their strengths. Is it so she’s surrounded by those who can support her? Or is it purely altruistic?”

Will thought of his conversation with Jia in the bath. She’d wanted to keep Hannibal around because he was the most threatening monster in the dark, but it wasn’t to use him, not entirely. It was preservation. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her or Will again, not even the biggest bad.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned about my daughter,” Will said softly, “it’s that the one thing I can trust with her is that she’ll always act in the interest of the people she cares about. She’ll defend her friends and family to the end. She’ll destroy threats if she has to. She’ll even befriend monsters. The ends always justify the means with that kid, even if the means are dangerous.”

Hannibal’s brows furrowed. “Her stunt at school was concerning. She could have gotten away with much worse than some bruising and stitches.”

“In retrospect, I think she was trying to provoke you. She knows you’re protective of her.”

“Yes, I assumed so at the time. Cunning on her part.” Hannibal had a little smile. “She’ll be truly terrifying in a couple years. We’ll have to keep a close eye on her.”

There was that ‘we’ again. It was presumptuous and, worse, welcome. Will wanted there to be a ‘we’ who raised Jia and Abigail together, watched them grow into forces of nature. The concept of a nuclear family had never even been on Will’s radar, but now that he was suddenly presented with the real opportunity, he _wanted_ it. He could see it. 

“She feels safe with you,” Will mumbled. “She knows, and she feels safe.”

Hannibal scrutinized Will’s face. “And you? Do you feel safe with me?”

Will considered the question for a solid couple of seconds. “I feel...assured in my importance to you. That’s enough for now.”

Hannibal frowned. “But you don’t feel safe.”

“Do you feel safe with me, Hannibal?”

“I think that would be unwise for the time being.”

“Well, then, perhaps we have an understanding there.” Will glanced at their clasped hands. “We’re both slow to trust, and we have good reason not to. But I’d like to feel safe with you.”

Hannibal squeezed Will’s hand. “As would I.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought you by the song "Earth Death" by Baths:
> 
> https://youtu.be/7zTRnCP6Zxg
> 
> My men cannot get out of being pulled into the earth  
> I've been done here, only time keeps me from the demiurge  
> My self cannot get out of being pulled into the earth  
> Well we do next to nothing, we have always been the scourge  
> Come kill me, I seem so brittle  
> Come kill me, I see so little

The Museum of Natural History was closed for the evening, but Hannibal had never been stopped by locks before. He sauntered through exhibits featuring the snarling remains of predators long dead. Their bones were on display for all to see and learn from their example and shortcomings, adaptations fallen out of usage and populations driven to non-existence by the unyielding and indifferent strength of Mother Nature.

Randall was putting together the skeleton of a sabertooth cat in a display. He heard Hannibal’s footfalls and muttered, “Museum’s closed.”

Hannibal stepped into the light of the display, and Randall froze, recognition in his stare.

“Hello, Randall,” Hannibal greeted with a warm smile.

“Dr. Lecter,” Randall returned cautiously. He was obviously wondering what had prompted his former psychiatrist’s appearance.

Hannibal glanced around at the mess of animal skulls around them. “You will always be ruled by your fascination with teeth.”

Randall’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what you said to me when they brought me into your office the very first time.”

Hannibal had no memory of that, but the symmetry delighted him. “Is that what I said?”

“Yeah, I was crying.” Randal fiddled with his gloves, a nervous habit. “I was dreading telling you what was wrong with me, and you made it easier.”

“A therapist’s life is equal parts counsel and curiosity. We set a patient on a path, but are left to wonder where the path will take them.” Hannibal took a moment to stare at Randall and appreciate his work. “You’ve come so very far.”

Randall didn’t smile, but his eyes were softer. “A long time since you treated me.”

Hannibal rounded the display of the sabertooth cat to face Randall without separation. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you about your wonderful progress, just for a moment, privately.” He held Randall’s eyes. “I’ve seen what you’ve done.”

“And what have I done?” Randall prompted.

“You bore screams...like a sculptor bears dust from the beaten stone.” Hannibal heard the pride in his voice. “That crying boy doesn’t cling to you anymore. What clings to you now? What clings to your teeth?”

Randall was quiet a long moment, and then the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Ragged bits of scalp, trailing their tails of hair like comets.”

“Beautiful.” Hannibal let the poetry of it wash over him. What a savage young man Randall had become. Would Jia or Abigail grow into such a picture of ferocity?

“They are looking for you,” Hannibal continued, getting to the real point of his visit.

Randall didn’t seem surprised or alarmed. “I don’t think I can stop.”

“I don’t want you to.” Hannibal had loftier aspirations for his charge. “But they will find you, Randall. When they do, it’s important you do exactly what I say.”

Randall searched Hannibal’s eyes a moment, and then nodded. “What should I do, Dr. Lecter?”

#

Teeth. They were everywhere, open maws waiting to tear and consume. Will stared at all of them, counting to himself while he and Jack waited for Randall Tier to come out. They’d arrived as soon as the museum opened. People meandered through the exhibits, observing the skeletons of animals who existed only in these halls, outside of memory. The museum staff had directed Jack and Will to a sabertooth cat display in a corner, as much privacy as they could afford without letting them into the staff rooms.

Randall came out, dressed in a lab coat. He was so very young, mid-twenties with a chronic baby face. His mannerisms and stride denoted confidence. He was comfortable in his environment, nothing to fear here. That was a rare response when the FBI were involved. Most people at least had a low level of anxiety when law enforcement looked their way, regardless of if they’d done anything or not.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Randall prompted as he approached.

Jack took out his badge to show it. “Special Agent Jack Crawford with the FBI.” He gestured to Will. “This is Will Graham.”

Will didn’t acknowledge Randall, didn’t need to. He just prowled around the sabertooth cat and took in all the teeth.

“Did you put all that together?” Jack asked with a gesture toward a display.

“Yes, I did,” Randall answered simply. He was keeping his responses short, intentional.

Jack offered a smile. “Nice work.” He pointed to the skull of a cave bear. “What is that?”

“This is a cave bear.”

“You put together a lot of cave bears, do you?”

“Yeah, I put them together, take them apart, put them back together again.”

Will glanced at Randall out of the corner of his eye, noting just how stiff but careful these responses were.

“You understand their mechanics and how they’re engineered?” Jack pressed. 

Randall didn’t show any reaction to the question. “We understand a lot about cave bears. Their fossils have been found in the tens of thousands, all over Southern Europe. Very common.”

The deflection was clear. Common skull. Easily obtained. Not incriminating enough.

“The reason I ask,” Jack said, “is because a cave bear skull was used recently as a murder weapon.”

“Prehistoric jaws and claws are designed to do what they do best,” Randall said, a glimpse into his opinion on the objects in question. 

Will stared at the elongated canines of the sabertooth as he said, “The victims were torn apart. Used the right tool for the job.”

Randall looked to him with something like wariness. He’d been warned of Will. “Well, look inside the skull, and you’ll find what the job is.”

“You have a history of trouble with things inside your head,” Jack said bluntly. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Tier?”

Randall sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is that what this is about? You think I killed someone with a fossil?” When Jack just shrugged, Randall continued on, “I had an identity disorder. The doctors told me the internal map of my body didn’t match reality. Do you know what it’s like when the skin you’re wearing doesn’t fit?”

Will slowly turned his eyes to Randall, everything becoming clear. The careful responses. The confidence. The wariness. Hannibal had gotten to Randall first. 

“I can imagine,” Will said with growing anger.

Randall glanced at him. “I know who I am now, and I’m doing much better. I’m socializing. I take my medication. I’m employed. And I work very hard.”

Every word out of Randall’s mouth was part of a script. Will could almost hear Hannibal saying it. It was the perfect mix of indignation and reprimand—a jab at the FBI for assuming someone with a mental illness could be dangerous when he’d done the work to be an upstanding member of society. 

“And I’m proof that mental illness is treatable,” Randall concluded, just to put the nail in the coffin. 

Jack wasn’t one to be cowed, but he knew when he was beat. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Tier,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”

He headed away, and Will followed close, seething silently.

“Hannibal found him first,” he muttered under his breath. “I should have known.”

Jack nodded. “I thought as much. What’s our game plan now?”

Will clenched his jaw. “We keep an eye on him and hope he slips up.”

“That could mean waiting for another body.”

“I know.” Will took out his phone and called Beverly.

She answered after three rings. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Can you keep Abigail and Jia at your place for a couple days?” he asked. “Hannibal got to Randall before us, so we got nothing out of him. And I didn’t like how Randall was looking at me.”

“Motherfucker!”

Will had to pull the phone from his ear at the abrupt spike in volume.

“I’m killing him,” she hissed. “I’m doing it, Will.”

Cold dread filled him. “Bev, don’t. I don’t even know for sure if Randall intends to do anything or if Hannibal set him on me. It’s just a precaution.”

The line was silent for a long moment. “No, give the girls to Alana. I’m staying over at your house for the next week, and I’m bringing guns.”

“Bev, that’s—”

“This isn’t negotiable, Will. I’ll be over tonight.” She hung up.

Will stared at his phone a moment and then let out a long, long breath. “Beverly’s staying with me for the next week...armed.”

Jack grimaced, but he didn’t seem to disapprove of the idea, so much as the reason it had to happen. “Go home. Get your girls sorted. Keep your shotgun close.”

Will nodded stiffly. 

They left the museum without further conversation. Will called Alana on his way home. She agreed to keep the girls easily enough, but he couldn’t specify why. The FBI was trying to limit how much of Hannibal’s circle knew he was being investigated. Will couldn’t disagree. Alana was clever, but he couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t give herself away. 

“Abigail! Jia!” he called into the house as soon as he got home.

Abigail shuffled out of the living room, holding a book in one hand. “Will? You okay? What are you doing home so early?”

He headed for the stairs. “You and Jia need to pack. You’re staying at Alana’s for a week.”

“What? Why?” She followed him up the stairs.

Jia was in her room, listening to something. She had one headphone out while she went for the closet.

“Why are we packing?” she asked as she pulled out a duffle bag.

“I can’t explain,” he said ruefully. “Please just pack.”

She nodded without further question. Abigail was slower to follow instructions, wariness making her hesitant, but eventually, she went. Will helped Jia fit all her winter clothes and got all the toiletries she and Abigail needed. They were all ready to go within fifteen minutes, and Will had them in the car and on the road shortly after.

Had Hannibal really put Abigail and Jia in danger by making Will a target? He promised to protect them. It was more likely that he’d go after Jack, but then, no amount of overreacting seemed like too much where the girls were concerned. Will wasn’t willing to take any chances with their lives, promise or no.

Alana had just gotten home when he pulled up to her house. She climbed out of her car and greeted the girls with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Abigail, why don’t you let yourself and Jia in?” she said as she handed over her keys. “I need to talk with Will.

Abigail gave them a curious look. She hugged Will briefly, and then helped Jia do the same.

“Call us later,” she said, not a suggestion—an order.

When he nodded, she took Alana’s keys and went into the house with Jia. Alana waited until the door shut behind them to speak.

“What the hell is going on, Will?” she demanded. “Why do they need to stay with me?”

He took a deep breath. “A suspect might want to get rid of me before I can get evidence on him. I can’t risk the girls getting hurt.”

She cursed under her breath. “It’s just one thing after another. Where are you going to be?”

“Home. Bev’s going to be with me.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Thank you for looking after them. Let me know if you need anything.”

“That should be my line.” She gripped his arm. “Be careful, Will. Please. For their sake.”

He nodded and headed back to his car. His hand itched to grab his phone, to ask Hannibal for the truth, but he’d never get a straight answer over a phone call that was recordable. At best, Hannibal would probably say that Will should take every precaution. No, Will would have to just wait and see with Beverly. 

Two shotguns were better than one.

#

Beverly came over at five. She brought two pistols and a shotgun. Will had her set them on the dining table while he finished dinner, so she took Jia’s stool in the kitchen.

“You think Hannibal put you on Tier’s radar?” she asked as she folded her arms over the countertop.

Will had been pondering the idea all day. “It’s possible. He might have anticipated that I would pick up on Tier’s behavior and that I’d put Jia and Abigail somewhere safe. It’s also possible that he had nothing to do with it, and Tier is just acting independently.”

She sighed. “I just don’t understand. He seems so into you, but he also wants to kill you?”

“He doesn’t want to kill me,” Will murmured as he stirred a pot of noodles. “He wants me to become like him. He wants me to...free myself.”

She grimaced. “How do you not just try to kill him every day?”

He fantasized about it daily. His hands had felt Hannibal’s neck break beneath them. His skin had bathed in Hannibal’s blood. But it wasn’t what he really wanted. What he really wanted was a world where he didn’t have to worry about Hannibal, but didn’t have to live with the knowledge of his death. A world without Hannibal in it seemed...empty. A life away from Hannibal was far more preferable.

“Will you let the dogs out?” Will asked instead of answering.

Beverly stood and went to open the front door. The dogs all poured out into the snowy evening. She let the door shut after them and returned to the kitchen. He didn’t try to continue the conversation, just stared at the noodles boiling in the pot.

After a minute, Beverly said, “How does Jia deal with your relationship if she knows who he is?”

He sighed. “She takes it better than me. She knows, and she worries. But she doesn’t have to actually be around him. I’ve forbidden that.”

“Shit. And what about Abigail? Does she know?”

He shook his head. “I think she knows there’s something wrong with Hannibal, but she doesn’t know. I don’t have the heart to tell her.”

Beverly opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by an uproar of barking. He turned the stove off before heading out. The dogs all came back to the porch, save for Buster. Will herded the pack back inside and looked through the darkness, his stomach twisting with an instinctual dread.

“Buster!” he called. “Buster!”

No response. The dogs kept barking.

He went back into the house and grabbed a shotgun. Beverly got to her feet as soon as she saw him.

“Stay here,” he told her. “Protect the house.”

Her jaw clenched as she nodded.

He went into the snow. It was hard to run through it, but he plunged forward, his heart pounding in his ears. Buster had left a deep trail in the snow that he followed into the trees. The shadows of the night seemed to shift around him, each holding the possibility of a threat. Branches reached for him like claws in the dark.

He heard the whimpering before he saw Buster. The little dog was curled up in the snow. There was a deep gash in one shoulder, but he was breathing. Will kept scanning through the trees while he scooped Buster into his arms. The crack of a branch whipped his head around.

Teeth.

He held the shotgun in one hand while he sprinted back for the house. Plumes of snow burst up from where he stepped. His back was braced to feel claws sink into it at any second. It seemed a miracle when he got back to the house unscathed. 

Beverly was waiting by the front door with her own shotgun. “What happened?” she demanded.

He put Buster on the floor before he started turning off all the lights. Couldn’t give away their position in the house. Beverly kept close by him. They pressed back to back. 

And they waited.

One, two, three, four, five…

The shatter of the glass punctured the silence. Wilson barked twice, eyes fixed on the window by the fireplace. Will saw the beat a moment before it passed him and crashed into Beverly, sending her shotgun skittering. A crunch preceded her scream. Will raised his gun. The beast froze at the end of the barrel. Its eyes glittered in the dark as it watched him.

One, two, three, four five…

He tossed the gun.

The beast leapt at him. Air rushed out of him when he hit the wall. His hands found the human neck past the teeth and hydraulics, and he shoved back. The beast stumbled back onto the floor. It didn’t get the opportunity to get away before he sat astride it.

The first punch knocked away the fossilized bear skull. The second hit real flesh. Will’s blood sang in his veins by the third. He imagined Hannibal lying beneath him, as he had many times before. He imagined it was those sharp cheekbones folding under knuckles. He imagined that insufferable smile decorated with red.

Fire spread up his spine while he took the beast’s head in his hands and twisted. The cracks made him shudder in satisfaction, echoing through him like music.

Violent clarity struck him in the stillness that followed. He stared up at the ceiling and breathed in the frigid air streaming through the broken window. His heart thundered in his chest while he let waves of gratification fall over him.

“Will.”

The quiet voice made his head whip around. Beverly lay on the floor, her blood spilling out from a deep gash in her thigh. He took his belt from his pants and fastened it above her wound. The bone was broken, femur bent at an impossible angle. It’d nicked her femoral artery in all likeliness.

“Hang on, Bev,” he said as he gathered her into his arms and ran for his car.

The roads weren’t clear enough for the speed he took them, but he got to an ER within ten minutes. As soon as he walked in, hospital staff descended on them. He laid her on the cart they provided and held her hand while they rushed her into the back.

“Will,” she mumbled blearily, her eyes losing focus. “Bring fire down on him.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he said and squeezed her hand, panting as he kept up with the running staff.

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her eyes shut.

“Bev? Bev?”

She fell limp.

One of the doctors pressed her fingers to Beverly’s neck. “I don’t have a pulse!” she declared before climbing onto the cart to start chest compressions.

A nurse pulled Will away. “We have to take her to the OR,” she explained. “You can’t come with. You’ll have to wait in the lobby.”

When she hurried away, he stumbled back into the wall, trying to breathe. His hands shook with adrenaline at his sides. Blood decorated his clothes, most of it Beverly’s.

Had Randall come for him or Beverly?

_ There’s got to be a way we can streamline this, something in his house maybe. _

_ I get the feeling that Ms. Katz doesn’t like me. _

_ Bring fire down on him. _

Will stormed out of the hospital.


	28. Chapter 28

Someone was in Hannibal’s house and making quite a ruckus. He looked up from the sketch he was making of a fanged skull. Clattering sounded dimly somewhere in the house. He stood from his desk and went to the door of his study to press his ear to it. The clattering stopped as abruptly as it’d started. Hannibal stepped out of his study and carefully walked the halls of his home to the dining room.

Randall Tier lay dead on the dining table, his face beaten viciously. The suit of bone still clung to his form. Blood was frozen to him.

And Will stood at the head of the table.

The darkness in his eyes wasn’t shadow anymore. It had claws and fangs—teeth. And they were currently aimed at Hannibal with a fury unlike any he’d seen before.

“Who did you send him after?” Will asked, voice deceptively calm. Every inch of him was tense with anger.

Hannibal glanced down at the body, trying to figure out what had happened. “Did you kill him, Will?”

“Answer the question, Hannibal.” Even in his rage, Will didn’t raise his voice or harshen his tone. That was somehow more unnerving. “Who did you send him after? Was it me? Did you send him to my home? Did you put the girls at risk?”

Hannibal took a moment to answer, still confused. “No, I didn’t. I made a promise to you, Will. I keep my promises.”

Will let out a slow breath as he squeezed his eyes shut, but the tension didn’t leave him. That darkness was just as bloodthirsty when he opened his eyes again. “Beverly’s dead.”

Hannibal schooled his face into neutrality. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know she was a good friend of yours.”

“She was my best friend.” Will’s hands clenched into fists, making his knuckles bleed more. “Bled out on my floor.”

“Why was she in your home?” Hannibal asked, genuinely alarmed now. “Are the girls all right?”

“We found Randall Tier today, but not soon enough evidently. Someone had clearly told him what to say to avoid our inquiries. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, so I moved Abigail and Jia to Alana’s. A precaution. Beverly decided to stay with me for extra protection.” Will stared dispassionately at the corpse in front of him. “I’m going to ask you again, Hannibal. Did you send him after her?”

Hannibal glanced at Randall and then met the pure wrath in Will’s gaze. “Yes.”

That wrath was rapidly growing into wildfire, promising to raze everything in its path to ash. “Why?” Will pressed. “Why her?”

Hannibal noted the claws on Randall’s hands. Easily removable. Still lethal. “She was sneaking around my house. Clearly, she suspected something. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

Will took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She started having suspicions with the sweet William flowers, but I told her not to investigate you.”

“She didn’t take the advice it would seem.” Hannibal clasped his hands in front of him as he stared at Randall. “She came after me. I went after her. Consider it an act of reciprocity.”

Will’s smile held no warmth. “Polite society normally places such a taboo on taking a life.”

“Without death, we’d be at a loss. It’s the prospect of death that drives us to greatness.” Hannibal noted the abrasions on Randall’s face. “Did you kill him with your hands?”

“It was—” Will looked down at his bloody knuckles— “intimate.”

“It deserves intimacy.” Hannibal cautiously rounded the table, checking Will’s body language for any sign of aggression. For now, there was just that well-controlled rage, simmering beneath the surface.

“You were Randall Tier’s final enemy,” Hannibal continued as he carefully took Will’s hand to inspect the damage. “You honor Beverly with his death.”

The tension abruptly left Will. His shoulders dropped as he looked down at Randall. He didn’t give a response.

“Don’t go inside, Will,” Hannibal cautioned. “You’ll want to retreat. You’ll want it as the glint of the rail tempts us when we hear the approaching train. Stay with me.”

“Where else would I go?” Will spoke barely above a whisper. 

Hannibal gently pulled him into the kitchen. “You have everywhere to go.” He sat Will on a stool before he got the medical kit over the fridge. “You should be quite pleased. I am.”

“Of course you are.” There was bite to the bitterness of the statement.

Hannibal set the medical kit on a counter and started filling a bowl with water. “When you killed Randall, did you fantasize you were killing me?”

Will lifted his eyes to Hannibal’s slowly. The thirst for violence was still there, an answer all its own.

“Most of what we do,” Hannibal said as he came closer with the bowl, “most of what we believe, is motivated by death.”

A shaky breath left Will. “I’ve never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him.”

Hannibal smiled as he gently slid Will’s hand into the water. “Then you owe Randall Tier a debt. How will you repay him?”

Will stared at the doorway into the dining room, as if expecting Randall to amble out at any moment. There was something sharp to his anger now, refined to a point. It had purpose.

“Will you help me?” he murmured.

Hannibal’s smile widened. “Of course.”

#

Randall Tier was found at 6:32am by a custodian at the museum. She threw up at the sight before calling the police. Within an hour, the crime scene was swarming with FBI agents. Will went with Hannibal to it after getting the call from Jack. But he knew what it looked like, knew it _intimately_. Jack did as well. Everything from here on was theatre.

The sabertooth cat was decorated with pieces of Randall. His cranium was fixed to the skull, so his jaw became the snarling maw of the predator, as he’d always wanted. Teeth. His arms and legs melded with the cat’s limbs. The rest of him was in a freezer in Will’s shed.

“The killer chose not to dispose of the body,” Jack said as they circled the cat, “but to display it.”

Hannibal scanned the mutilated body, as if he hadn’t held the chisel that’d helped carved it. “A jarring reminder of the informality of death.”

“Randall Tier was denied the respectful end that he himself denied others.”

“This is a humiliation,” Hannibal agreed, “a final indignity.”

Something irreverent and indignant rose up Will’s throat as he looked at his work. “He isn’t mocking him,” he corrected. “This isn’t disdain. He’s...commemorating him.”

Hannibal, of course, didn’t display any suspicious reaction, just put on a thoughtful face. “This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he’s done.”

“No guilt,” Will added.

He could feel Jack’s eyes on him, troubled and wary, but Will couldn’t bring himself to care. Annie Kirwan hadn’t been his. She’d been a replica, a forgery, of another’s work. But this was his and his alone.

One, two, three, four, five…

The pendulum swings. Will stares at Randall’s disfigured head, the fangs jutting sharply from flesh like they’re ripping out the human suit he wore.

“Hello again,” Will greets.

Randall’s eyes flick to him. “Come closer. I want to see you.”

Will does as bidden. He circles the display, appreciating it. Randall’s eyes follow him.

“Can you see you?” Randall asks.

Will takes in the long spine covered in drying blood. “Clearer and clearer.”

A shadow looms at the periphery. It cannot harm Will here. He is the master of his world, only one person to share it with.

“You went after Beverly,” he murmurs. “You forced me to kill you.”

The shadow comes closer with whispers of truths Will is no longer scared to hear .“I didn’t force you to enjoy it. You made me a monument.”

“You’re welcome.”

“The monument is not to me. It’s to you.”

Will stares at the mix of fossil, bone, and flesh. “I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.”

The shadow presses to his back, cold as death in its embrace. “This is my becoming. And it’s yours.”

Will breathes easily, feels only the calm of contentment hum through him. “This is my design.”

The pendulum swung back. Will’s eyes snapped open. Hannibal and Jack were standing at his sides, hanging over either shoulder. 

“He knew his killer,” he said because he needed to. “There’s a...familiarity here. Someone who met him, understood him. Someone like him. Different pathology, same instinct.”

“His killer empathized with him?” Jack prompted, as if he didn’t know.

“Don’t mistake understanding for empathy, Jack.” Will flexed his hands in the gloves concealing his scabbed knuckles. “No, if there’s anything it’s...envy.”

Jack blinked. “Envy?”

“Randall Tier came into his own much easier than whoever killed him.” Will didn’t need to look at Jack to know the kind of expression he’d see. Jack was growing more concerned every day that Will wasn’t acting this with Hannibal, and he would be right. Precious little was a facade.

“This was a fledgling killer,” Hannibal offered. “He may not have killed before—or not like this.”

“Not like this, no,” Will agreed, something dangerously close to pride burning in him. “This is the nightmare that followed him out of his dreams.”

Zeller and Price came up to the display, holding their field kits. Jack’s brows furrowed when he saw them.

“Where’s Katz?” he asked.

Zeller shrugged. “She isn’t answering her cell, and I haven’t heard from her since yesterday.”

“That’s weird,” Price commented. “She’s usually here before anyone else.”

“Wasn’t she with you yesterday, Will?” Jack said with a quizzical look. 

Will shook his head. “She stayed until dinner,” he lied, “but then I went to Hannibal’s. She went home.”

Jack frowned. “Well, if I don’t hear from her by ten, I’m stopping by her place.”

Will nodded and measured his breaths, fighting back the guilt welling in his throat. Hannibal was giving him a curious look. They hadn’t discussed what was done with Beverly’s body, and they weren’t going to, if Will had anything to say about it. He was still angry, the kind of angry that’d put Hannibal at the end of his gun in the first place. If Will dwelled too long in his wrath, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“I must get to my office,” Hannibal said. “My first appointment is at eight today. Will, do you think you could get a ride to your car from someone else?”

“You both can leave,” Jack said flatly. “Will, just meet me at the Academy at noon.”

Will nodded and forced himself to walk away from his display with Hannibal. They didn’t speak while they wandered through the museum’s ribbed corridors. Their footfalls echoed off the walls and the vaulted ceiling. It was too quiet and too loud at the same time. Will forced himself to breathe and kept close to Hannibal until they got to the car.

“What did you do with Ms. Katz’s body?” Hannibal asked in the confines of his BMW.

Will pulled his phone out to check his text messages. “It’s hidden for now.”

 _Alana has questions,_ Jia had texted.

He’d have to deal with that soon. Alana would probably go to Jack as soon as Beverly was officially reported missing. She might have even suspected Will. He’d been acting oddly, referring patients to her with ongoing family trauma. Margot didn’t have a uterus anymore, thanks to her brother. Mason didn’t have control over his own body anymore, thanks to Hannibal. And Beverly’s last known location was Will’s house. Alana might have started to connect some of the dots, and if she hadn’t yet, she would.

Hannibal started the car and drove. A full minute passed before he said anything. “How will you honor her?”

Will stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Mm, you’ll have to wait like everyone else.”

“Oh?” Hannibal’s brows hiked up his forehead. “I don’t get special privileges?”

“It’s a surprise.” Will still wasn’t sure how he was going to commemorate his best friend, but the decision wasn’t solely his anyway, shouldn’t have been. That wasn’t his right.

“Watching Jack take in my work,” he said abruptly, “was invigorating.”

Hannibal had the little, proud smile that warmed Will’s bones. “There are few things as joyful as seeing the fruits of your labor and knowing they left a mark.”

Will slid a hand over Hannibal’s thigh. “I do like leaving my mark.”

“I really do have an appointment at eight, Will,” Hannibal said, but there was open lust in his eyes.

Will let his hand slide higher. “I guess we’ll have to wait then. Pity.”

“Was last night not enough to sate you?”

“Was it enough for you?”

Hannibal sucked a breath in when Will’s hand went higher. “You tease too much.”

“Do I?” Will leaned over to pass kisses up the side of Hannibal’s neck. “You were watching me the whole time I took him apart, turned him into the beast he always felt inside. What were you thinking while his blood dripped down my hands?”

Hannibal’s moan filled the car. “I thought you were beautiful.”

Will hummed appreciatively and dragged his teeth over Hannibal’s neck, earning a shiver. He could almost hear Beverly’s voice in the back of his mind, telling him to burn Hannibal to ash, and he would. She’d make sure of it.

By the time Hannibal pulled into his driveway, he was breathing hard. Will turned his jaw, so their eyes met, so he could see how much Hannibal wanted him. He’d promised that he’d make Hannibal crave the fire that’d devour him. The agony that’d follow would be all the sweeter. What would his tears taste like?

Will captured Hannibal’s lips, imagining the poison heavy on his own. He had put venom into his own blood, so he could speak it in every word and press it into every caress. His toxin had settled into Hannibal where it belonged, given regularly to ensure dependency. The withdrawal symptoms would be a sublime kind of pain, and Will was ravenous to bear witness to Hannibal’s descent.

He pulled away with a grin. “Have a good day, Dr. Lecter,” he breathed and climbed out of the car.

A thrill shot down Will’s spine at the sharp breath he heard behind him. 

Soon. He’d have his way soon.

#

The memory of Will tangled in Hannibal’s bedsheets with Randall Tier’s blood still on his hands wouldn’t leave. Hannibal barely paid attention to his morning appointments, a solipsistic fascination with the previous evening taking all his cognitive capacity. It was decadent, this sense of partnership and connection. He reveled in how it felt to have Will inside him, with the taste of his and Randall’s blood in each kiss. Hunger given form. Teeth. Consumption.

He was still buzzing with Will’s touch when he closed his office for the afternoon and went to Bedelia’s. It’d been a while since their last appointment, if only because Hannibal had been busy with Will, but he owed her a visit, whether she wanted it or not.

They went to her sitting room, as always. She was perfectly composed as always, and he imagined how she would look beneath the soft skin of her face. Her legs crossed as she sat across from him.

“It’s been a while,” she commented. “I was starting to think you’d finally let me go.”

He clasped his hands in his lap. “I don’t waste anything if I can help it, Bedelia.”

There was a steeliness to her gaze while she analyzed his face. “So tell me then. What have you been up to?”

“I have made a friend closer to me than I’ve ever let anyone before. He is...rare, unlike anything I’ve encountered.”

Her brows nearly reached her hairline. “I imagine he would have to be for your tastes.” She was quiet a moment, assessing. “Would this...rarity...be the Will Graham we’ve spoken of before?”

“It would.” Hannibal could see her trying to figure out how to proceed through this conversation.

After a beat, she asked, “Are you aware of who Freddie Lounds is?”

He frowned. “Keenly. She’s a journalist for some sensationalist tabloid.”

“Well, she posted something very interesting this morning on her sensationalist tabloid. She’s curious about Will Graham and, by extension, you.” Bedelia’s stare was shrewd. “It’s rather gruesome what happened to Mr. Randall Tier.”

“Is there something you’re speculating on, Bedelia?” he asked carefully.

She folded her hands on one leg. “Ms. Lounds has a unique perspective. She was very interested in the body that appeared in Mr. Graham’s hometown and your involvement with the Minnesota Shrike. She thinks that neither you nor Mr. Graham are the so-called copycat killer, but...together, you might be.”

“Well, Ms. Lounds won’t be fenced in by something as malleable as the truth,” Hannibal said pleasantly. “She has no boundaries.”

Bedelia didn’t turn from his stare. “Someone with no boundaries is a psychopath.”

“Or a journalist.”

Her lips twitched. “Ms. Lounds isn’t the only one without boundaries.” When he arched a brow, she continued, “Your relationship with Will Graham doesn’t seem to know many. Patient and therapist, colleague and friend—perhaps something deeper.”

He never failed to be impressed with her observatory skills. “Crossing boundaries is different than violating them.”

“Boundaries will always be subject to negotiation,” she agreed tightly. “It seems most people can’t tell where you are with each other.”

“We know where we are with each other. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“I suppose.” She finally broke eye contact, but only for a moment. “Mr. Graham has a daughter. Are you still treating her?”

“No, extenuating circumstances have prevented that option.”

She seemed relieved by that. “Parenthood isn’t a journey to be taken lightly. To be responsible for the life of another is a great burden.”

“One I am very familiar with.”

“Surgery and psychiatry are not the same as nurturing a child into a fully actualized adult.” The muscles around her jaw flexed. “An agent of the FBI came by to inquire about your relationship with Will Graham.” 

Hannibal didn’t show his wariness on his face. “Jack Crawford was here?”

“He had enough doubt in whatever it is you told him about Mr. Graham to feel the need to verify.”

So Jack still suspected Will of the copycat murders or, at the very least, the murder of Annie Kirwan.

Hannibal looked toward the window, deepening the lines around his eyes to seem troubled. “Jack believes Abigail Hobbs was involved in her father’s crimes, and he believes Will is protecting her.”

“And evidently, he suspects you are protecting Will.” When he didn’t reply, she prompted, “Are you?”

“Are you asking as my psychiatrist?”

She smiled, but it seemed mocking. “I’m stepping out of my role as your psychiatrist, and I’m speaking to you now as your colleague. Whatever you’re doing with Will Graham, stop.”

He wondered if her heart would taste better for its tenacity. “Will needs my help.”

“Does he? Or do you need him?” When he didn’t respond, she pressed on. “You cannot function as an agent of friendship for a man who is disconnected from the concept, _as_ a man who is disconnected from the concept.”

Hannibal was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Bedelia couldn’t continue living. “I’m protecting Will from influence. He has flaws in his intuitive beliefs about what makes him who he is. I’m trying to help him understand.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and then quietly: “It’s not a crime to fall in love, Hannibal.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “You think my feelings for Will have clouded my judgement?”

“Haven’t they?”

He didn’t see a point in lying, not when she so obviously could see past it, so he didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know how far you’ve gone,” she continued. “I don’t want to, but if you really love him, you’ll step back.”

Hannibal was immediately reminded of Will’s definition of honor. 

_Protecting them, cherishing them, and if you can’t, if you can only do harm, honor means having the strength to walk away._

“Am I dishonorable now for refusing to walk away?” he asked, honestly pondering the question.

Her eyes softened ever so slightly. “You have to maintain boundaries, Hannibal.”

He could still feel Will’s fingertips on his skin and the taste of Randall on their lips. “When the pressures of my personal and professional relationships with Will grow too great, I assure you I’ll find a way to relieve them.”

#

Alana was in Jack’s office. Will heard her voice drift out of the door and stopped in the hall to listen.

“—haven’t heard from her all day, Jack,” she said vehemently. “She wasn’t at her apartment, and she was at Will’s last time we heard from her. You expect me to believe that they just parted ways last night? She wouldn’t leave him alone, not even with Hannibal.”

“I get your concern, Alana,” Jack said evenly. “I’m also worried about her. We’re looking into it.”

“You don’t seem worried! She’s _missing_ , Jack!” A deep breath. “Look, I don’t like how Will’s been acting lately. He’s...different. Ever since he and Hannibal… Well, there’s something going on there that isn’t right. I know it.”

Will stepped into the office, drawing Jack’s and Alana’s eyes. “Are you accusing me of something, Alana?” he asked flatly. “It sounds like you’re accusing me of something.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What happened to Beverly, Will?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. “I’m just as worried as you are.”

Her jaw set. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to find out.” She stormed out of the office, slamming the door after herself.

Jack sighed and rubbed his head. “We’re going to have to tell her soon,” he mumbled. “She won’t back down on this.”

“We will, but not yet.” Will folded his arms over his chest. “She’ll talk to Hannibal about it, and it’ll only strengthen his trust in me. The more people are suspicious of me, the more believable that I’m on his side.”

Jack rubbed his eyes, the years of his age an experience suddenly visible. “What were you planning to do with Beverly’s body?”

Will shrugged. “The specifics don’t matter as much as making a spectacle of it. We just need to catch Hannibal’s attention.” He chewed his lip a moment. “Why don’t we ask her to design it? I think that’s her right.”

Jack’s brows rose. “Right now?”

“You have something better to do?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go.”

Jack drove them to the hospital. He was all rigidity and stone silence. This whole thing with Hannibal had taken a toll on him, both because of how it affected Will, but also from keeping up the facade. Jack hadn’t forgotten Miriam Lass, hadn’t forgotten the pain of it. Hannibal had made sure of that. Forgiveness may have been for the undeserving, but some things were unforgivable. Some things had to be punished.

A nurse showed them to the correct room when Jack flashed his badge. There were FBI agents posted outside the door, standing tall in their suits. They nodded respectfully when Jack and Will went in.

She lay in bed, eating what looked like chocolate pudding from a cup. Her leg was suspended in a sling, a cast wrapped around her thigh. An IV dripped into the crook of one elbow. The monitor by her bed displayed her vitals. She looked up when Jack and Will entered, and a small smile touched her lips.

“Hey, Bev,” Will greeted. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got mauled by a psycho and died for two minutes.” She settled into her bed. “But I gotta say they keep me up to my eyeballs in morphine, so no complaints.”

He sat on the bed beside her. “Have you been getting rest?”

“I doze in and out. I’m sure the next hit of morphine will knock me out again in twenty minutes.” She glanced at Jack. “What’re you both doing here?”

“We wanted to ask if you’d like to design your own death tableau,” Will answered with a smile, knowing she’d jump at the opportunity.

Her entire face lit up. “What—really? Yeah.”

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’ll obviously have a body double,” he said, “and it has to be mutilated enough that Hannibal won’t be able to tell it isn’t you.”

She tapped a finger on her pudding cup while she thought. “Easiest way to do that would be fire, but I don’t really want to be crispy.” Her finger stopped as she perked up. “Take off the skin.”

That would be easy enough, and it would make sure there was no face to recognize. “What then? This needs to be as big as Randall Tier’s tableau, and it needs to be personal, something that honors you and who you are.”

“You might be better at that, Will,” she said. “Who am I?”

He considered the question a moment. “You’re strong, smart...analytical and organized. You take apart crime scenes, break them down, categorize them.”

“‘Take apart,’” she echoed, and then a slow smile spread her lips. “I think I have an idea.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the song "In the Roses" by Henri Bardot and Christian Reindl:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65ExJvn8Uqc
> 
> Wasn't it you who said  
> That even the stars fade out  
> That even the sun dies down?  
> Well I conclude it love  
> To be a cold conversation  
> To get lost in the waiting

She lay in a boat, atop a frozen lake, resting peacefully. Hannibal was almost offended on Will’s behalf that Jack’s men had dragged the boat out of the ice and brought it to shore. He walked along the bank beside Will, eagerness pulsing in his veins. It’d been almost a week since Beverly had died, and all Will had revealed of his plans was an array of flowers that they’d tended together. But Hannibal was patient because it paid off. He was certain whatever his dear Will had designed would be breathtaking.

Freezing wind rushed through the dead branches of the surrounding trees. Snow crunched beneath the boots of the FBI personnel moving about. Snow had just begun to fall, sparse and slow like tears tired of falling. The afternoon sunlight was already starting to leave. These days were fleeting.

So, too, was Beverly’s life. 

She lay in flowers. They grew through her skin and in the dirt that lay around her. Her torso had been opened up, ribs pulled apart and abdominal muscles pried away. Her arms and legs had been cut in careful cross-sections, each cut containing a stem. A thicket of rose stems, thorny and dried, surrounded her, but there were no roses. Purple lilies filled her chest. Pink and red carnations grew from her stomach and intestines. All around her were marigolds in bright yellow and orange, as if to wrap her in light. Jasmine threaded through the black strands of her hair and spilled over the edges of the boat. Her face was marred from the bright red begonia rising through it, skin split apart to make way for roots.

“The mutilation and decomp is extensive enough,” Jack mumbled softly, “that we can’t know from sight if it’s her, but we found her jacket in the boat. It had her wallet.”

Will fell to his knees at the boat’s edge, as if in worship. His breathing was hard. Jack had the decency to look away while Will stared at his best friend.

Hannibal bent to clasp Will’s shoulder, but Will just flinched away.

“Where are Price and Zeller?” he asked, voice strained and cracking.

Jack swallowed. “They couldn’t keep it together,” he said, “so they’re taking a walk.”

Will nodded weakly.

“Do you need to take a walk, Will?”

“No.” Will lifted his head to peer into the boat. “No, I don’t.”

Silence held for a moment. It seemed like the world was waiting to take a breath, waiting for Will to breathe again.

“She wasn’t meant to die,” he whispered into the quiet. “There’s no humiliation here, no maliciousness. He...loved her.”

“She was chronically single,” Jack observed. “Do you know if she had someone new in her life?”

“I don’t know.” Will ran a hand down his face and let out a shuddering breath. “He opened her up, carefully, meticulously, and looked in...like she would a crime scene. Each cut evenly spaced. Each flower organized, with its own hidden meaning, waiting to be interpreted. That’s what she did. She found the meaning hidden in the evidence.”

“Lilies in her chest,” Hannibal murmured. “Lilies have many meanings. The Greeks thought they were gifts of Hera. Purple in particular is for pride, dignity...devotion.”

The colors of the flowers reflected in Will’s glasses as he stared. 

“Carnations for admiration and curiosity,” Hannibal continued. “Marigolds for grief. Jasmine for beauty. And begonias for gratitude.”

Will’s mouth moved slowly while he mumbled, “Open her up, let her fill with light, more light than she had in life.”

Hannibal had to wonder if Will was putting on a performance or honestly letting himself grieve. This display was beautiful and ambitious, but it also showed just how deeply beloved Beverly was to him. Admiration for Will’s work rose with a note of jealousy at the creation. Would Will do anything so lovely with Hannibal’s body?

A few tears escaped Will’s eyes. He didn’t seem to notice them.

“Jack, I think this is enough,” Hannibal said and gently pulled Will to his feet. “The profile is obvious enough.”

Jack nodded curtly. His eyes were fixed on the body.

Hannibal led Will away. They moved slowly, Will shuffling like his boots were filled with concrete. It was a long while until he spoke.

“You’re not sorry, are you?” he mumbled. “You’re not sorry she’s dead.”

Hannibal took a moment to consider his response. “I’m sorry her death hurt you.”

Will swallowed and looked up at the sky, eyes shimmering. “You know I’m not going to let this go so easily, right?”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” Hannibal wouldn’t dream of denying Will his vicious nature. “Dare I ask what you have planned for me?”

“You could ask, but I wouldn’t tell you.” Will let his tears fall freely, streaming down his cheeks in lovely rivulets.

Hannibal stepped in front of Will, stopping them both, and wiped the droplets away with a thumb. “‘A person has two passions for love and abhorrence. A big disposition to excessiveness has just a love, because it is more ardent and stronger.’”

“Descartes.” Will took Hannibal’s hand from his face and pressed it to his lips. “‘Pleasure of love lasts but a moment. Pain of love lasts a lifetime.’”

“Florian. Will you make my pain last a lifetime?”

“Until your last breath.”

#

The snow was coming down heavier now. Will felt it melting into his hair as he climbed out of his car and stepped onto the salt-laden pavement of the hospital parking lot. His tears hadn’t been fabricated, but what he mourned wasn’t Beverly. They were getting closer and closer to the end. Hannibal’s prints were on the flowers he’d helped Will raise, and coupled with the joint collaboration on Randall Tier, that would be enough for a conviction. The only thing left to do now was figure out how to make the arrest. Hannibal wouldn’t go quietly. He valued his freedom too much.

Alana was already standing in front of the hospital when he made his way over. Her back was straight, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. As cold as Will had grown inside, he hadn’t been able to let her grieve overlong. She deserved to know the truth, if only to spare her from further pain.

“Why did you call me here, Will?” she asked. Her eyes held no warmth when they looked at him. “Shouldn’t you be working with Jack on finding Beverly’s killer?”

He headed into the hospital and motioned for her to follow. They wandered through the white halls, never making eye contact with anyone they passed. She kept giving him quizzical looks as she kept pace beside him up to the second floor. Her curiosity seemed to grow when they came to a door guarded by two FBI agents. And when Will pushed the door open, she gasped.

Beverly offered a hesitant smile. “Hey, Alana,” she greeted. “Uh… Surprise?”

Jack stood beside her bed, looking gruff as always. He nodded to Will when their eyes met.

“What the hell is going on?” Alana demanded as Will closed the door after them.

“How much time do you have?” Beverly asked.

Alana came up to the bed, tears at her eyes. “You’re not dead.”

“Well, I was for a little bit, but not for long.” Beverly looked to Will. “Thanks to that one.”

Will couldn’t bring himself to feel any pride at that. If not for his involvement with Hannibal, she would never have gone looking around Hannibal’s house.

“Tell me everything,” Alana said.

So Will did. He told her about Jia and the ‘funny man.’ He told her about Abigail’s trial and the judge. He told her about Randall Tier and Beverly. She just listened quietly, not so much as asking a question while he went through the entire tale. And when he finished, her silence was deafening.

“Say what you want to say, Alana,” he prompted, knowing she was holding back what was a doubtlessly a torrent of thoughts.

She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, there was something icy and jagged in their depths. “Do you think he knows?”

Will shook his head. “Not in any meaningful way, not to the extent that things have gone.”

“You’ll have to get his guard down more,” she said coolly. “You promised retribution for Beverly. He can’t suspect how extreme it’ll be.”

Will had been thinking about that. Hannibal needed final assurances that Will’s devotion was infallible, a testament to their union.

“You already know what you have to do, don’t you?” she murmured, gaze softening almost to pity.

He wouldn’t cry anymore for Hannibal, but his eyes burned all the same. “I do.”

#

Randall Tier tasted delicious after Hannibal was done with him. Will had expected to have more hesitance in eating a person, but honestly, cannibalism was so low on his list of repulsive things by now that he wasn’t even sure it was on there. Besides, he could appreciate the poetry of it. The hunter became the hunted. Predator into prey. Will was just the better predator, the mongoose waiting for the snakes to slither by. And Randall made a tasty snake.

Will watched Hannibal watch him chew the first bite. They hadn’t explicitly discussed what the meat was when Will brought it for dinner, but Hannibal knew. His hunger had layers to it tonight. Will wanted to indulge it to the fullest—a kind of primal, animalistic instinct. Hunt. Consume. Mate. Tonight didn’t require higher thought. Will didn’t want it to. If he dwelled too long in the landmine-ridden battlefields of his mind, he’d surely have his legs blown out from under him.

Hannibal didn’t take his first bite until Will swallowed. An odd expression crossed his face—considering, savoring.

“The meat has an interesting flavor,” he observed. “It’s brazing. Notes of citrus.”

Will didn’t let his eyes stray from Hannibal’s face, determined to take in this moment. “My palate isn’t as refined as yours.”

Hannibal cut off another piece. “Apart from humane considerations, it’s more flavorful for animals to be stress-free prior to slaughter.” He ate another bite. “This animal tastes frightened.”

“What does frightened taste like?” Will took a bite of his own meat.

“It’s acidic.”

“The meat is bitter about being dead.” Will smiled in amusement at the poetry of it. Whatever him that he showed in front of Alana and Jack and Beverly earlier was oddly absent today, perhaps taking a step back, so he could just let himself be free with Hannibal. Monster to monster.

Hannibal didn’t quite chuckle, but he smiled broadly. “This meat is not pork.”

Will stared down at his plate for a moment, thinking of how he’d cut the flank from Randall’s pieces. “It’s long pig.”

Hannibal’s eyes were somehow both bright and dark. Delighted and ravenous.

Will peered at Hannibal over the rim of his wine glass when he took a sip. “You can’t reduce me to a set of influences,” he said for no other reason than because he needed to say it. “I’m not the product of anything. I’ve given up good and evil for behaviorism.”

Hannibal sipped from his own glass, mirroring involuntarily. He was transfixed. “Then you can’t say that I’m evil.”

“You’re destructive. Same thing.”

“Evil is just destructive?” Hannibal tilted his head, part contempt for the assertion and part curiosity. “Storms are evil, if it’s that simple. And we have fire, and then there’s hail. Underwriters lump it all under ‘acts of God.’” His eyes slid down to his plate and then up to Will’s again. “Is this meat an act of God?”

Will took another bite and let himself experience the power of the simple action. “Was sparing Jia an act of God?”

Hannibal wiped a corner of his lips with his napkin. “I’m sure some might say so. It was...a whim.”

“‘Some might say’? Not you?”

“If He is to blame, I can only imagine it was to bring more destruction. Your daughter is much like her father.” Hannibal swirled the wine in his glass a moment. “When men become fathers, they undergo biochemical changes that affect the way they think.”

“You said the same thing happens when men become killers,” Will muttered, not sure how he felt about the comparison.

Hannibal cut a piece of meat. “Fathers can be killers.” He ate his bite and chewed slowly. “What kind of father are you, Will?”

Will wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I was a good one, but… Well, I’m not so sure anymore. She seems to grow further and further away from me.”

“We have a deep-seated need to interact with our children. It helps us discover who we are.”

The gentle and knowing tone caught Will’s attention. “Have you ever been a father?”

There was...something...in Hannibal’s eyes. Pain? Grief? “I was to my sister. She was not my child, but she was my charge. She taught me so much about myself. Her name was...Mischa.”

Will didn’t respond, just waited for more. The weight of the words bore down on him. They were heavy with real loss, real grief at love stolen by fate—God.

“Abigail reminded me so much of her,” Hannibal murmured while he stared into his wine glass, “and Jia, for that matter...back on that fateful day.”

Will could hardly breathe past the mirrored pain in his chest, an imposition of his empathy. “Beverly was like a sister to me.”

Hannibal lifted his gaze. “What happened to Beverly had to happen. There was no other way.”

“There was.” Will looked away. “But there isn’t now.”

“I’m sorry...that I took her from you.” 

It was the most sincere apology Will had ever gotten from Hannibal, and he hated how his chest constricted at it. Hannibal could feel the agony of compassion now, for the true burden it was. Why did it hurt Will, too? Why did he have to see how much Hannibal genuinely cared? It wasn’t fair. 

Against his better judgement, the tears welled up hot in his eyes.

“I wish I could give her back,” Hannibal breathed.

A few tears fell while Will witnessed Hannibal’s remorse unfold. “So do I.”

Hannibal couldn’t look at him. “Occasionally, I drop a teacup to shatter on the floor...on purpose.” He worried his lip. “I’m not satisfied when it doesn’t gather itself up again.”

Will saw it then—the depth of Hannibal’s love for his sister, the concessions he made for her, and how her death had shattered him.

“Someday perhaps, a cup will come together,” he finished softly.

Will could give that to him. The pieces were in his hands, every last shard of Hannibal, and he had the gold to fill in the cracks. It was his to bring to fruition...or to deny.

“Would you protect Jia and Abigail in the way that you couldn’t protect Mischa?” he asked because he had to, even knowing any answer given would hurt.

Hannibal’s gaze was steady. “I would.”

Will’s heart was rending itself to pieces, and he was helpless to stop it. So he just savored the pain, let it fill him, let it make wounds that’d never heal. If he was doomed to anguish, then it’d serve him better to appreciate it than suffer.

They finished dinner in relative silence. Nothing needed to be said that hadn’t before. And after the dishes had been cleaned, dried, and put away, Will took Hannibal by the hand and led upstairs. 

It was quiet in the bedroom. There was no sound but their breathing, soft rushes of air lost to the night. Will kissed the palm of Hannibal’s hand, up a firm forearm and bicep, and along a surprisingly delicate collarbone. He paused there, pressed up against Hannibal, to commit the warmth between them to memory. Maroon eyes like the fading sun held his. He cradled Hannibal’s face in his hands and pulled gently.

Their lips came together like two shards of the same cup meeting again. Broken pieces put back in place.

Will took his time undressing them. He let his hands wander ridges of muscles. Fabric fell away with soft whispers along their skin. Hannibal touched back, almost tentative in his gentleness—as if he were afraid to test the adhesive holding them together. He traced fingertips along the length of Will’s jaw and into the thicket of curls behind his head.

Will shed the last of their clothes before he pulled Hannibal down to the bed and stretched over him. Their bodies fit together, chest to chest and legs tangled. It was too easy, too perfect. But it couldn’t be anything else. Will was too late to resist the pull between them, if he’d ever really wanted to. They were headed down an inexorable path to destruction, and there was no point in trying to avoid it.

“Does it hurt?” Will asked while he passed kisses over Hannibal’s throat. “Do you feel my pain?”

Hannibal closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good.” Will nudged Hannibal’s thighs apart with his knees. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.”

Will hummed his satisfaction and rocked his hips. Hannibal responded immediately, pushing back in search of more sensation. He was different than usual. His acquiescence might have been borne from his new encounter with guilt, and even as angry as Will was, even as much as he wanted to twist the blade, that might have made Hannibal retreat into himself. This required a lighter touch. Hannibal had let down his walls just to be next to Will, and that would certainly eclipse his other regrets.

So Will opened Hannibal with careful fingers and searching lips. He drew out every gasp and moan he could until Hannibal had clawed red lines into Will’s shoulders. It was the most vulnerable Will had ever seen him, laid out and at the mercy of every touch. But there was still power there. By virtue of the fact that it had to be given, Hannibal still controlled his power. It was a gift—to be given or taken away.

Will slid slowly inside Hannibal. The tight heat burned up his spine and drew a moan from him. Hannibal arched up to capture Will’s lips. There was familiarity now in how they fit together and moved in sync. They knew each other, inside and out. They knew how to touch and how not to. They knew every plane of skin.

“Do you still want to embed yourself so deeply in me that we could never part?” Hannibal whispered against Will’s lips. “Do you still want to be the poison in my veins?”

“I don’t need to want.” Will pulled out only to sink back in slowly. “I succeeded.”

Hannibal’s breath left him at the next thrust. “Have I been sufficiently punished then?”

Will pressed his lips to Hannibal’s ear. “Checkmate.”

The one word drew a shiver from Hannibal, and he clutched at Will’s shoulders tighter. They breathed each other’s air as Will picked up his pace. Pieces of them came together, bonded, reformed—falling up and away from the hard ground. As if they were always meant to. As if time could reverse and bring back what’d been broken. As if they could find completion in the jagged edges they stuck into each other.

Will wouldn’t say the words at his lips. They were too harsh a reality. So instead, he pressed reverent fingertips into Hannibal’s skin and let himself fall up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is probably the worst chapter for this, but I need to go on hiatus until the 19th. I will be back, though.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I was gone for so long. I have had a very hard week, but things are stabilizing now. My updates still might be slower than usual. I promise I haven't given up on this project though.

The friction of graphite over paper was sweeter for the image Hannibal produced. He sat at his desk in his study. Heat from the fireplace warmed his back. Will passed careful fingertips over the books lining the walls, taking in the extensive reading. There was so much in his eyes, not least of which was power. He walked the halls of Hannibal’s home like he owned them. And truly, there was nothing within these walls that he did not possess totally and completely.

“Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus,” Hannibal explained when Will looked over his shoulder. “Whenever he’s mentioned in  _ The Iliad _ , Patroclus seems to be defined by his empathy.”

Will stared at the sketch of the despondent Achilles sobbing over his deceased lover. “He became Achilles on the field of war. He died for him there, wearing his armor.”

An obvious metaphor, one that Will would have no trouble parsing. This was as near a declaration of love as Will would be able to hear now. He wasn’t ready for a more explicit admission.

“He did,” Hannibal said lightly. “Hiding and revealing identity is a constant theme throughout the Greek epics.”

Will’s lips twitched. “As are battle-tested friendships.”

Hannibal saw the opportunity to push, and he had long been lacking the need for hesitation. “Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone.” When Will’s eyes snapped to his, he continued, “Took divine intervention to bring them down.”

Will glanced at the sketch once more and then drifted toward the fire. “This isn’t sustainable. We’re going to get caught.”

Hannibal couldn’t refute the statement. “Jack asked my psychiatrist about you...about us. He suspects you killed Randall and, by extension, Beverly.”

“If Jack said he suspects me, that means he suspects you.”

“I know.”

Will breathed in once, twice. Thinking. “You should give him what he wants.”

An intriguing idea. “Give him the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“Allow him closure.” Will’s hands slid up Hannibal’s shoulders, and his voice held the same dangerous seduction that it did in bed when he spoke again. “Reveal yourself. You’ve taunted him for long enough. Let him see you with clear eyes.”

Hannibal glanced at the hand sliding toward his neck. “Jack is my friend. I suppose I owe him the truth.”

Will lightly cupped Hannibal’s throat. “And then where will you take us?” He bent to press his lips to Hannibal’s temple. “We can’t stay here.”

“I have a decent fortune stashed in Italy, bequeathed to me by my uncle. It would be a good life...for our daughters, too.”

Will hummed and pushed Hannibal’s chin up until their eyes met. “Conquer Troy ourselves? Bathe in the blood of Rome?”

“How sweetly you speak.” Hannibal reached up to trail his fingers over Will’s jaw. “When do we leave?”

“Mm, dinner Wednesday, and we’ll be gone before dessert.”

Hannibal smiled as he pulled Will down. “At your word, my dear Will.”

#

The drive home passed by in a blur. Will was numb to his core without Hannibal to breathe life back into him. How long would it be like this? After Hannibal was gone for good, would the numbness dissipate with time? Or would it stay with Will? Would he wear it like his skin, as he did now?

The dogs crowded around him as soon as he stepped through the front door. It was dark in the house and quiet, long past the girls’ bed time. Or so he thought.

“You have all the pieces arranged how you want them, don’t you?” Jia’s voice shattered the silence, but she spoke as soft as a breeze. 

He flicked the light on to find her sitting on the couch. Winston rested his head in her lap. Her little hand was hidden in the fur of his flank. She faced a wall, eyes blank as ever.

“You should be in bed, Jia,” Will muttered as he pulled off his coat. “It’s almost midnight.”

“How soon?” she asked, ignoring his words entirely.

His lips pressed to a line as he hung his coat on the rack by the door. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a reason I can never beat you in chess. You play the person, not the game, but I still know your moves. Mason Verger, Randall Tier, Beverly… You have your pieces set up. So how soon, Dad, until you trap Dr. Lecter?”

Will sighed. He had been hoping to avoid this conversation, but that had been foolish. Jia didn’t miss much. He sat beside her on the couch.

“If I tell you,” he said stiffly, “will you warn him?”

“I haven’t told him yet, so why would I now?” She absently threaded her fingers through Winston’s fur. “I paid my debt to him. Whatever you decide, Dad, I’ll accept it.”

Will rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his head. “He wants to run away to Italy with us—you, me, and Abigail.”

She took a breath, and then let it out slowly. “And do you want to run away with him?”

“You have a life here, Jia, and Abigail shouldn’t—”

“I told you that I’d accept whatever you decide. I’ll be fine wherever we go, and Abigail will, too.” She carefully reached out until she found his forearm. “What do you want, Dad?”

He wanted to run away. He wanted to leave behind Jack and the FBI and his doubts. He wanted to let Hannibal overtake him.

But there lay insanity. Hannibal was a cannibalistic serial killer, an intelligent psychopath the likes of which Will had never encountered before. What kind of life would they have? Never mind the life they’d have with children. Well, maybe that last point was moot. Neither Abigail nor Jia were strangers to murder, and while Will was sorely uninterested in producing more serial killers, he recognized that maybe the best thing to do for his daughters was to teach them control, to tame their demons.

“On Wednesday,” he murmured, “Hannibal will be brought to justice, and you will never see him again.”

The lines around her eyes deepened. “You don’t know what you’re going to do, do you?” she observed far too accurately.

His jaw set. “You shouldn’t even be concerning yourself with this, Jia.”

“Maybe.” She stood. “If you’re going to let him free, I suggest you do it before Wednesday. He trusts you. He won’t take betrayal well. You should give him some time to calm down.”

He caught her wrist when she started away, stopping her. “You know what he is and what he’s done. Why shouldn’t I lock him up?”

She chewed her lip. Several seconds passed before she answered. “Do you ever think about how cruel prison is? Violent criminals vying for power, prisoners used as cheap labor, abused by the system that made them. Solitary confinement is considered normal, but it is one of the most inhumane acts to inflict on a human being. Rape is rampant, between inmates and from guards. Cops abuse their power every day with murder and rape and torture, and most of them will never see the inside of a cell. Honestly, I don’t see a lot of difference between the police and the criminals they hunt. You punish the worst of humanity, Dad—the ones who might deserve to suffer prison. But it would be more humane if you just killed them. Abigail’s dad was lucky, I think, that you shot him.”

Not for the first time, Will was floored by his daughter’s mind. He really should have monitored her media consumption better, if she knew all of this, but she was crafty. Her fascination with injustice had probably started long before he met her. Nothing bothered her more than inequity, which was why she’d gone after Kirwan and why she’d resolved to kill her father and why she’d paid her debt to Hannibal by protecting him.

_ This is her design. _

He pushed that thought away and seriously considered her words. Maybe she was right. Prison was cruel and unjust and inhumane. Police as an institution were corrupt and inequitable. And he knew it. His empathy ensured he knew the suffering of prisoners and the disenfranchised. If they’d been born to a country with a functioning rehabilitation program, maybe he could argue imprisonment as humane, but this was the US. Death seemed merciful.

If only he was the merciful sort.

“If you really love him,” Jia said into his silence, “either kill him or let him free.”

Will bowed his head. “I’m too selfish for that.”

“Too selfish to let him go?”

“Yes.”

“That only leaves you with going with him.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that either. I wouldn’t do that to you or Abigail.”

She pulled her arm from his grip. “Don’t use me as an excuse, Dad. That’s not fair.”

“Well, what would you suggest, Jia? We have a life here.”

“Home’s not a place. It’s you. I go where you go.” She sighed heavily. “No matter what you choose, I’m with you. Just don’t pretend that I’m the reason you’re going to hurt him. That’s your choice, not mine.”

He saw her logic, so he didn’t offer a rebuttal, just a soft “Sorry.”

“I’m with you,” she repeated. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’m with you.”

“I know.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Go to bed. I think I need some more time to think.”

She nodded and shuffled out of the room.

He stared at the piece of plywood over his broken window, and then the missing rug on the floor where Randall and Beverly had bled out. 

He’d never felt so alive. Blood rushing through his veins and heart pounding in his ears. Killing Randall had been nothing short of euphoric. The only comparable feeling was the thrill of having Hannibal under him, a monster at his mercy. Alive. Powerful. He wanted to break Hannibal and cut himself on the shards, just to feel the sting of it sing through his blood. It wasn’t healthy. It was destructive. This desire to hurt and be hurt in return would surely kill them both one day. And he...wasn’t fine with that.

Another part of him, a deeper part of him, knew they were capable of something softer. It shook him every time Hannibal spread gentle fingertips over his cheek or murmured sweet words into his ear. It was...tender. Hannibal was capable of not only compassion, but gentleness. And that was going to undo Will. He could easily spend his life indulging in the singular, honest kindness Hannibal had for him.

Alive wasn’t just the power that came with holding another’s life in his hands. Alive was the little smiles Hannibal reserved just for him. Alive was the trust Hannibal had in him. Alive was waking up with Hannibal pressed against him.

It was cold now, the numbness bleeding Will. He barely felt the couch beneath him and the bite of his nails in his forearms.

When the moment came, he had to do what needed to be done.

What needed to be done?

Will didn’t owe Hannibal anything now, least of all his affection. Will didn’t owe Jack anything either, least of all his loyalty. He’d come this far to see Hannibal suffer, and that was going to come to fruition no matter if Will followed through with trapping Hannibal or not. The betrayal would hurt. It’d hurt like how it’d hurt when Hannibal had uttered “funny man” to him. And that was good enough for Will.

What needed to be done?

Will didn’t feel his feet beneath him when he stood and headed to bed.

#

Will watched Beverly eat the sandwich he’d brought her as a reprieve from hospital food. She was going to start physical therapy soon. He didn’t know if he was going to be around to watch her go through it.

“I feel poisoned,” Alana murmured from the other side of Beverly’s bed.

Beverly abruptly stopped chewing and lifted her eyes to Alana.

“We’re all poisoned,” Will said because it was true. He’d poisoned them.

Alana stared at her hands in her lap. “You saw what no one else could.”

_ Funny man. _ “I had some help.”

“We’re still in the thick of it.”

“We’re getting through the worst of it.”

Beverly lowered her sandwich, her appetite seemingly gone. “You’ve set some sort of trap,” she said carefully, “and you’re goading Hannibal into it. How can you be sure he’s not goading you?”

“I can’t,” Will admitted.

Alana rested her arms over the side of the bed. “Did you forgive Jia...for what she did?”

He nodded weakly.

“How? She let him into your home, into your life. She let him get close to you and you to him.”

And Will continued to get closer, to let Hannibal in deeper. “Forgiveness is such a profound, conscious and unconscious state of affairs. You can’t actually choose to do it. It simply happens to you.”

“Forgiveness happened to you?” Alana shook her head. “I can’t even imagine what Jia was thinking. How could she do that to you?”

Will looked over Beverly and her broken leg. “Jia is...exceedingly loyal. She protected Hannibal because, in her mind, she owes him that.” The corners of his lips pulled up. “She learned her strategies from me. She doesn’t play games. She plays people. She played me and Hannibal, and it gave me the opportunity to see him for what he was and to survive him. I forgave her, Alana, because I made her into what she is. I can’t scorn what is essentially my own fault.”

Beverly reached over to take his hand. “You couldn’t have seen this coming, Will.”

“I empowered Jia to think for herself. I don’t think I get to be surprised when she does just that.” He stood and placed Bev’s hand on the bed. “I have to go. I’ll be back later tonight.”

Her brows furrowed. “Where are you going?”

“I have a date.” He smiled in an attempt to take the sting away, but Alana and Beverly just looked at him like they were watching him leave for war. Maybe they were.

“I’ll come back,” he promised softly.

Beverly’s jaw clenched. “You better be.”

#

Hannibal tossed his patient notes from the mezzanine of the office, sending papers and notebooks cascading through the air. He’d miss the rest of his books, but his material possessions didn’t serve a purpose anymore. Besides, most could be replaced in Italy, save for some of the first editions.

Will caught his own journal of patient notes when Hannibal threw it toward him. “These are your notes on me,” he commented after thumbing through a page.

Hannibal peered over the railing, as if he didn’t know exactly what he’d done. “So they are.” He resumed tossing over journals while Will looked through the writings about the workings of his mind, most of it fascinated—perhaps even infatuated—observations than anything. More than that, though, the notes gave a glimpse into his thoughts and how consumed he was with Will. Handing it over was as much a sign of trust as it was an extension of it.

After a moment, Will wandered over to the fireplace. He tossed the whole journal over the pyre and watched it burn. Hannibal climbed down to the ground level. Neither he nor Will spoke while he picked up the journals from the floor. Shadows flickered across Will from the flames before him. Hannibal took the stack of journals and set them on his desk. Was Will destroying the past or honoring it? Was it hidden now to everyone else but them, something for them to reflect on and cherish?

Will turned from the fire just as Hannibal opened a journal. “Don’t your patients need these after you’re gone?”

“The FBI will pore over my notes if I left them intact,” Hannibal explained. “I will spare my patients the scrutiny. I’m dismantling who I was and moving it brick by brick.”

He tore out several pages and handed a couple to Will. They offered the paper to the fire. The edges of it blackened and curled, the flame’s hunger eating away.

“When we’ve gone from this life,” Hannibal said as he looked back at his office, “Jack Crawford and the FBI behind us, I will always have this place.”

Will stared at him, face inscrutable as ever. “In your memory palace?”

“My palace is vast, even by medieval standards. The foyer is of Norman Chapel in Palermo...severe, beautiful, and timeless—with a single reminder of mortality. A skull, graven in the floor.” Hannibal took more pages and gave them to the fire.

“All I need is a stream,” Will said as he also took more pages.

Hannibal envisioned the river they’d visited to fish. “In those moments where you can’t overcome your surroundings, you can make it all go away.”

“Put my head back, close my eyes...wade into the quiet of the stream.”

It was so terribly Will that Hannibal couldn’t help but appreciate the image.

“If I’m ever apprehended,” Hannibal said, “my memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system. I will live there.”

Was he reassuring Will that he’d survive incarceration? Did he intend to ease Will’s guilt, if this was indeed a ploy? Could it be anything else? This was a dream, too good to be true. Will was good at that. He could promise the stars while he burned the world and salted the earth.

“Could you be happy there?” Will asked with the flames reflected on his irises.

Hannibal could have lied and said that it would have been a sufficient existence, but he didn’t owe Will reassurances. “All the palace’s chambers are not lovely, light and bright. In the walls of our hearts and brains, danger waits. There are holes in the floor of the mind.”

Will’s face didn’t change when he said, “You taught Jia how to create her palace. It’s growing.”

Hannibal’s smile was small, but genuine. “I’m sure it’ll become a brilliant structure in no time.” He opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a neatly wrapped present. “For her birthday. It’s Corrine Duyvis’  _ On the Edge of Gone _ in braille and a USB with songs from several contemporary pianists that I thought she’d enjoy.”

Will laid a hand over it when Hannibal set it on the desk. “She’ll love it.”

Hannibal tried not to hear the note of sadness in the words. He opened another journal just as Will went for one. Notes of cheap soap from the hospital’s sheets and iodine drifted off Will, along with the distinct scent of ammonia that seemed to cling to Ms. Katz—as it did to everyone who worked in forensics. Will could have viewed her body earlier, but rot didn’t touch him. No, Hannibal knew better than that.

He stared at Will’s back while more patient journals joined the fire. It was...unsurprising. Was this betrayal or did Will only mean to protect his friend? There was no way Beverly could have survived and faked her death without the help of the FBI. And Will had to have been part of it. 

Hannibal didn’t know if he wished this had come as more of a shock or not. He would have known if Will were putting on an act the entire time, and that wasn’t the case. Will cared...loved. That was real. Did his wrath truly know no bounds? Well, of course it did. He hurt himself just to feel something. He would cut himself on Hannibal’s rocks without hesitation, and they would drown together.

“Do you know what an imago is, Will?” Hannibal asked as he ripped more pages.

Will glanced at him over his shoulder. “It’s a flying insect.”

“It’s the last stage of a transformation.” Hannibal wandered toward the fire and fed the pages in his hands.

“When you become who you will be?”

“It’s also a term from the dead religion of psychoanalysis.” Hannibal let the heat of the flames soak through his front. “An imago is an image of a loved one, buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives.”

As he’d carry Will all his life.

“An ideal,” Will observed.

Hannibal’s disappointment wasn’t bitter like usual. It was almost bland this time. “The concept of an ideal… I have a concept of you, just as you have a concept of me.”

“Neither of us ideal.”

“Both of us are too curious about too many things for any ideals.” Hannibal couldn’t help but feel like he was beginning. “Is it ideal that Jack die?”

Will looked up at Hannibal then. “It’s necessary. What happens to Jack has been preordained.”

That could have two meanings, depending on Will’s intentions. Did he know his own intentions?

“We could disappear now,” Hannibal said, and he knew he was begging now, for a mercy Will wouldn’t grant. “Tonight.”

There was real intrigue and want in Will’s eyes, but he didn’t speak.

“Feed your dogs,” Hannibal continued, “grab the girls, leave a note for Alana, and never see her or Jack again—almost polite.”

Pain was etched into the lines between Will’s brows. “No last supper?”

“Not of this life, I suppose.” Hannibal was going to lose this, he knew, but he still mumbled, “We’ll serve lamb.”

“Sacrificial.”

It was starting to grow painful to speak. “I don’t need a sacrifice. Do you?”

“I need him to know.” Will shoved his hands in his pockets, a resoluteness to his gaze and stance. “If I confess to Jack Crawford right now…”

“I would forgive you,” Hannibal confessed, quiet as a prayer. 

Will’s stance suddenly faltered, his shoulders tensing and the lines of his face contorting ever so slightly toward anguish.

“If Jack were to tell you all is forgiven,” Hannibal pressed on, “would you accept his forgiveness?”

Will shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Jack isn’t offering forgiveness. He wants...justice. He wants to see you, see who you are...see what I’ve become.” His voice was thin when he added, “He wants the truth.”

Hannibal could have run away alone. He was losing Will, if he had ever really had him. But what he saw didn’t match the doubts in his mind. Was Will so self-destructive as to fall in love and then ruin it?

“Tell the truth then,” Hannibal conceded, “and all its consequences.”

If Will recognized the threat for what it was, he didn’t show it.

They finished burning the journals in silence. Hannibal felt his uncertainty like lead in his bones, making him slow and reluctant. So he let it leave a metallic taste on his tongue, and when the last of the pages were ash, he took Will by the waist and pulled them together. Will easily fit against him, with a little sigh of contentment. It wasn’t fair. Nothing about the man was.

When they kissed like they had multiple times before, Hannibal could almost taste the poison.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the song "Emerge" by Ruelle:
> 
> https://youtu.be/2LgthUB1nfQ
> 
> Echo in my dreams  
> Crawling through the depths of you  
> Coming over me  
> Drifting in the deep

Will stared at all the clothes he hadn’t packed. Abigail stood beside him, also staring at the full closet. He’d told her everything. He told her about Hannibal and what he was and what he wanted. He told her about what he’d done and the choice he now had to make. She’d taken everything in remarkable stride, ready to start helping him pack or stay here.

“You don’t have to come with,” he mumbled. “I have the paperwork to hand over all my assets to you. The house and everything in it will be yours.”

She glanced at him and then stared at the closet again. “I think you first need to decide if we’re going at all.”

He swallowed and took a breath. His heart was beating too fast. His thoughts were moving even faster, spinning him in the same endless loop he’d been stuck in all week. He wanted to go with Hannibal, wanted it more than he’d wanted anything. But his life was here. The girls were here.

“I shouldn’t even be considering this,” he mumbled. “He’s the fucking Ripper.”

Abigail let out a long breath. “I loved my dad, even when I was helping him, even when I knew what he was and what he wanted to do to me. I loved him. I think...we don’t get to choose who we love. It just happens.”

Will ran a hand down his face. “I can’t love him. He’s...dangerous.”

“So was my dad, but he was mine. Hannibal is yours.” She squeezed his bicep. “I can’t make this decision for you, Will, but I do know that he won’t stop. If he’s anything like my dad, he’ll keep going. Can you do that?”

He could. He had gotten a taste of it with Randall, and it was...euphoric. But it shouldn’t have been. Murder shouldn’t have felt so good.

His phone rang, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. “Hello?” he answered.

“Is Jack with you?” Alana asked immediately.

His brows furrowed. “No. Why?”

She sighed. “They’ve issued a warrant for your arrest, Will, for acting as an accessory to entrapment...and for the murder of Randall Tier. They’re going to arrest Jack as well.”

He watched the lights of police vehicles come down the road and grabbed Abigail.

“Will?” Alana prompted.

“Goodbye, Alana.” He pulled Abigail downstairs and grabbed the handgun strapped under the dining table.

“Will, what’s going on?” Abigail asked, voice high with panic.

“We’ve got to go.” He shoved the gun into his waistband and then went into the living room.

Jia sat on a couch, fingers trailing over the book Hannibal had gifted her. “Are they coming for you?” she asked simply.

He scooped her into his arms. “Yes.”

“Inconvenient.”

Abigail trailed after him, grabbing a coat for herself and Jia from the coat rack as they hurried out the back door. The police cars were just pulling up when he deposited Jia in the back seat of his car, and Abigail climbed into the passenger side. Will peeled away, sending snow into the air behind them. He knew these roads better than whoever the FBI had sent. It was easy enough to lose them on the backstreets.

Abigail and Jia gripped their seats tightly until they were on a long stretch of road, trees passing by them in the dark. He didn’t turn his headlights on, didn’t need to yet. It’d be necessary when he got closer to Baltimore.

“Where are we going?” Abigail asked, staring at Will uneasily.

“Dr. Lecter’s,” Jia answered. “Right?”

Will forced himself to nod and pulled out his phone. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation.

“Then no matter happens, no matter what you hear, don’t go into the house. If you think there’s danger, you leave.” He looked to Abigail. “Look out for each other. Promise me.”

Abigail’s jaw set as she nodded. “I promise.”

Satisfied, he dialed and held the phone to his ear.

#

“Hello?” Hannibal answered as he cut through the raw lamb he was preparing.

A soft intake of breath. “They know.”

He straightened. So his worst fears had been realized. He again wished that it was surprising, but what was done was done. Will had made his choice. Hannibal had to make his.

The minutes passed, ticking away emptily. Each second was one he could have spent running, but he didn’t. No, he was going to face this head on. He was going to make Will bear the consequences. 

Jack stepped into the kitchen, unannounced and undoubtedly armed.

“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal greeted as he sliced through the lamb again. “You’re early.”

“I couldn’t wait to get here,” Jack offered in explanation, his smile deceptively pleasant.

Hannibal turned the knife stand toward him. “Would you care to sous-chef?”

Jack glanced at the knives and then up to Hannibal’s stare. “I want to thank you for your friendship, Hannibal.”

So there was no avoiding the fight.

“The most beautiful quality of a true friendship,” Hannibal said as he set his knife on the edge of a bowl, “is to understand them. Be understood, with absolute clarity.”

“And this is...the clearest moment of our friendship.” 

Jack reached for his gun just as Hannibal threw his knife. It struck true, sliding deep into Jack’s hand and making him drop the gun. Hannibal jumped over the kitchen island. Blood decorated the floor tiles while Jack pulled the knife from his hand and swung it. Hannibal lurched back, barely avoiding the blade. He caught Jack’s arm on the second swing and knocked the knife to the floor. The metal clanged on the ceramic.

Jack threw all of his weight at Hannibal’s middle. They went careening back into the cabinets. The glass doors shattered against Hannibal’s back, cutting into him. He ducked under Jack’s arms, but it proved futile. Jack shoved him back onto the island, his strength superior. Hannibal grabbed the pot sitting on the island and slammed it into Jack’s head. That only afforded a moment before Jack tossed him to the floor. 

Will was supposed to be here to help.

Hannibal leapt to his feet and lifted an arm to block and punch. Jack immediately landed another punch to Hannibal’s gut.

Will wasn’t going to come.

Jack threw another punch. Hannibal sidestepped it and got an arm around Jack’s extended arm. The crunch of humerus trying to escape scapula rang through the room.

Will had abandoned him.

Jack shoved Hannibal back and spun him. The arm that constricted around Hannibal’s neck was formidable. He slammed all his weight back, knocking Jack into a wall. The chokehold loosened just enough for Hannibal to slip his head through. He staggered back, and Jack went for a knife. Distance between them, so they could start all over again.

Hannibal grabbed an apron from the island. He dodged Jack’s strikes, waiting for an opening. It came in the form of a lunge that went a little too far. Hannibal wrapped the apron around Jack’s arm and twisted. The knife dropped while Jack stepped back. Hannibal kept up his assault, landing a jab to Jack’s gut and then head. 

The floor was slick with their blood now. Jack fell into it. Hannibal grabbed the door of the fridge and slammed it into Jack’s head. It elicited a musical crack and grunt. Hannibal grabbed a knife from the stand, freshly sharpened, as Jack got back on his feet, albeit a bit unsteadily. If Will wasn’t coming, then Hannibal would have to do the heavy lifting by himself.

He lurched away from the next fist Jack threw. His knife felt comfortable in his hand while he shoved Jack on to the island and brought the blade down. Jack grabbed the cutting board. The knife went through, but not completely. Jack twisted the board, knocking the knife away, and kicked Hannibal’s knees out from under him.

Death seemed near when he hit the floor. Jack yanked him up by the collar, wrapped a towel around his neck and pulled. It was all Hannibal could do to get his fingers underneath the towel, protecting his jugular and carotid, but not his airway. Hypoxia would get him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So he went limp.

Jack waited a second longer before loosening his hold, letting Hannibal fall to the floor. He was breathing hard with his efforts. It was almost a compliment.

Hannibal grabbed a shard of glass by his leg and swung it behind him. The give of flesh was familiar and satisfying. Jack gasped and clutched his neck. He fled into the pantry, slamming the door after him. Hannibal threw his shoulder at it, but Jack must have pressed up against it. It didn’t budge.

“Hannibal!”

He sighed as he turned to find Alana with her Beretta trained on him. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but well, he’d suspected she knew the truth since he’d smelled Beverly on Will. She wouldn’t forgive Hannibal for attempting to kill a friend.

“Where’s Jack?” she asked.

“In the pantry,” he answered simply.

When she didn’t reply, just stared at him with shock and anger, he continued, “I was hoping you and I wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Nothing seen nor said. You might have found that rude, but I didn’t think you’d forgive me for Ms. Katz...or little Jia.”

He took a step toward her, but she squared her shoulders.

“Stop!” she hissed.

He paused and looked her over. Would she really pull the trigger? Did she have that in her?

“I was so blind,” she murmured.

“In your defense, I worked very hard to blind you.” He looked down at the gun and then met her eyes. “You can stay blind. You can hide from this. Walk away. I’ll make no plans to call on you. But if you stay, I will kill you.”

She chewed her lip, teeth working over it like she was trying to draw blood.

“Be blind, Alana. Don’t be brave.”

The click of a firing pin descending on a bulletless chamber disappointed him. He was truly fond of Alana. More the pity.

“I took your bullets,” he said before he started forward.

She ran, of course. He didn’t put much effort into the chase, just steadily followed her upstairs to his study. She locked herself in. A moment later, gunshots rang out.

“I found more bullets!” she called out, perhaps intending to intimidate. 

He peered through the holes she left in his door before stepping around to the adjacent room. His sitting room connected to the study by a hidden panel. She released another shot at the study door while he pushed at the panel. He crept toward her, keeping his steps light, until her peripheral vision caught him emerging from the shadows. She turned her gun. The shot went through the ceiling when he lunged under her arms and shoved her back. 

The window gave behind her. Glass sparkled in the rain outside while she fell through the air. He barely heard the thud of her body beyond the sound of a car pulling up. Will climbed out. Hannibal stared with a mix of anger and something too cold to call hurt. It seized his chest, made him want to march down and decorate Will with his own blood. And still he knew he couldn’t really kill him. 

The cure in the venom. Sweet poison rivaling the gods’ ambrosia.

Will crouched over Alana and called someone, probably paramedics. He laid his coat over her body before heading into the house. Footfalls in the distance, deliberate, careful, cautious. They grew louder, echoing in the silence. Once, they had filled the empty spaces. Now, they seemed to highlight just how cavernous those spaces were. Dead air.

His gun was raised when he came up to the study. Hannibal looked away from the window to meet Will’s eyes. The gun lowered. Rainwater dripped from Will’s hair. It soaked through his clothes and ran down his face. So lovely, this deadly creature of passion and grace. 

The coldness grew in Hannibal’s chest.

“You were supposed to leave,” Will rasped brokenly. 

Hannibal stepped closer until he was in Will’s space, until he could see every pained line on his lethal love’s face. “I couldn’t leave without you.”

The tears were at Will’s eyes, threatening to fall. Hannibal hesitantly reached up to brush a damp strand from Will’s forehead. It seemed natural to lean in, to have one last taste of the poison he craved so much. The rainwater on Will’s lips was sweet. Hannibal let himself savor this last indulgence and committed to memory the note of bitter venom hidden in the sugar of the moment. 

The knife in his pocket was light. It sank easily into Will’s gut. A soft rush of air left him, but he didn’t cry out. Hannibal started to slice through oblique muscles, never quite breaching into the intestines. Because he couldn’t. Because that was his weakness, the price of his compassion. 

A firm hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him at the umbilicus. His eyes shot to the offending interruption.

Abigail was breathing hard, but there was a steeliness to her eyes as she held his wrist. Conviction. Resolve. When had she grown so much?

“Don’t, Hannibal,” she said. “Please.”

Will stumbled back and pulled Abigail with him. “I told you to stay in the car, Abigail,” he said breathlessly, clutching his bleeding gut. “Go.”

She stood tall as she held Hannibal’s eyes. “No.”

Hannibal could kill them both. It seemed fitting for Will to bleed out with his daughter. Perhaps he could drag Jia in from the car as well, destroy this part of his life with the family that had abandoned him. 

The creak of floorboards made all eyes turn to the doorway. Jia stood there.

“You promised,” she reminded him. “We keep our promises, Dr. Lecter.”

The anger abruptly drained from him, replaced by something much worse. It...ached. Was everything for this moment? Were these the rocks at the bottom or was it still the fall? Was this his punishment?

“Time did reverse the teacup that I shattered there to come together,” Hannibal murmured. “The place was made for Abigail and Jia and your world. The place was made for all of us, together.”

Will still didn’t let his tears fall, but he seemed to be taut as a piano string. He sank against the wall. Abigail pressed her hands to the knife wound. Blood seeped between her fingers.

“I have let you know me—see me,” Hannibal continued stiffly, his throat growing tight. “I gave you a rare gift. But you didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t I?” Will breathed.

Hannibal’s jaw set. “You would deny me my life.”

Will shook his head. “No,” he rasped, his breaths starting to grow uneven from shock. “No. Not your life. No.”

“My freedom then,” Hannibal snapped. “You would take that from me. Confine me in a prison cell.”

Will’s smile was humorless. “It would be more humane to kill you outright.”

Hannibal grimaced. “Do you believe you could change me the way I’ve changed you?”

“I already did.”

Jia cautiously came toward Abigail and Will. She found her father’s hand where it lay on his wound. The lines around her eyes were deep, as if she were thinking hard on something.

“You were going to go with him, weren’t you?” she said after a beat, voice barely audible. “You were going to go, but you missed a variable with the FBI. They weren’t supposed to come after you.”

Will didn’t avert his eyes from Hannibal’s when he mumbled, “Yes.”

It wouldn’t have mattered. Will had lied and sold their partnership to the FBI.

“Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment,” Hannibal said dispassionately, “when the teacup shatters.”

Will’s face suddenly hardened into something almost like rage, but darker—controlled. “It’s never going to gather itself back together again.”

Hannibal wouldn’t beg, but ice was rapidly spreading through his limbs. “So you’re victorious in your punishment—your humiliation—of me.”

“When it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory.”

“We are in a zero-sum game?”

"Your game."

Hannibal scoffed. “You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.”

“You delight,” Will bit out. “I...tolerate. I don’t have your appetite.”

The muscles of Jia’s jaw flexed as she clenched and unclenched it. “Dad, please don’t,” she rasped. “You don’t mean it.”

Will ignored her, his focus completely on Hannibal. “I gave you a chance to go,” he said evenly, “and you can still take it. I’m not going to miss you. I’m not going to find you. I’m not going to look for you. I don’t want to know where you are and what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore.”

That hurt in a way that could only have been deliberately inflicted, Hannibal’s great punishment realized. The agony of compassion. His eyes stung, and he resented that he had let himself be played so thoroughly. Will had told him all along that he would break him.

_We keep our promises, Dr. Lecter._

“Goodbye, Hannibal,” Will whispered.

Hannibal stared a moment longer—taking in the pain in Will’s eyes, the fierceness in Abigail’s, and the sorrow in Jia’s. He dropped the knife on the floor and headed for the door. His feet felt heavy as he descended the stairs and stepped out onto his porch. The rain was still falling in a torrent. It drenched him while he walked past Alana’s gasping form.

The tears came then, disappearing into the rain he let pour over his face.

_He’s going to hurt you, Dr. Lecter. He’s going to make you cry like you made him cry._

The sirens were in the distance. Hannibal knew he had to run now if he was going to escape them. But he stayed where he was in the rain. He stayed until the blood staining his shirt ran through the fabric from the water soaking into him. He stayed until the FBI were upon him.

They trained guns on him while he dropped to his knees in surrender. Paramedics rushed past him and to Alana. One eventually brought out Will, trailed by the girls. His eyes widened when they found Hannibal.

Kade Prurnell came up to them, holding a black umbrella over her head. Her blond hair was impeccable in its bob, not a hair out of place. Her black suit hadn’t a wrinkle. She glared down at Hannibal with cold, blue eyes.

“You caught the Chesapeake Ripper,” he said with a false smile.

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. You surrendered.”

Jia emerged from behind Will, holding Abigail’s hand. She couldn’t see, but she seemed to sense Hannibal’s eyes on her, as she nodded curtly in approval. Had she gotten his gifts? What would she become while he was locked away?

His smile turned genuine as he held Will’s stare. “I want you to know exactly where I am,” he said as gravely as he would a promise, “and where you can always find me.”

#

Things moved quickly. Ambulance. Paramedics mistaking silence for fear. Reassuring words that were unnecessary. Dr. Lecter wouldn’t have cut so deep as to truly endanger. He felt too deeply for anything so decisive as death.

One, two, three, four, five…

Hospital. Abigail’s hand. Antiseptic and urgent words. Waiting and waiting and waiting.

One, two, three, four, five…

A room, quiet and just for them. Beverly’s voice, holding off CPS. She didn’t stay long.

One, two, three, four, five… 

Even in his sleep, Dad measured his breaths. His body would heal, but his heart wouldn’t. He knew that part of him would always belong to Dr. Lecter. That was why he’d tried to break them apart so decisively—a clean split, so to speak. But Dr. Lecter had always promised a messy breakup. It’d make headlines. Freddie Lounds might even come up with a catchy moniker for them.

Abigail fell asleep around midnight, lying on the hospital bed they’d allowed her and Jia in Dad’s room. Beverly was supposed to take them home, but they’d refused. This was the compromise. Jia didn’t feel bad at the concessions she’d demanded of the hospital or Beverly. One shouldn’t make demands if they were apologetic. That was disingenuous.

Jia felt through her jacket pockets until she found her phone. Her headphones were wrapped around it, so she unraveled them, careful not to bump Abigail beside her as she did so. There’d been two gigabytes worth of audio tracks on the USB Dr. Lecter had gifted. That was over 600 songs, if they were indeed songs. And the book he’d given her certainly had the title _On the Edge of Gone_ , but inside wasn’t a story, not a typical one anyway. There were excerpts from different psychology textbooks and pieces of novels, guiding her toward something—a broader narrative she couldn’t see just yet.

She pushed her headphones into her ears. “Gmail, Instagram, Lyft, Messages, Music,” a feminine, robotic voice informed her as she circled the scrolling ring on her phone’s keyboard. “Music selected. Albums selected. December twenty-first uploads selected. Play.”

‘Leaving the Darkness Behind’ started playing. Philip Wesley tended to compose songs about transitions, going from one state to another. Topical. What was next? ‘Dark Night of the Soul’? ‘Lamentations of the Heart’? ‘Two Souls’?

The song faded, and the robotic voice announced, “‘Racing Against the Sunset, dot, mp-three.”

Jia was about to frown when ‘Racing Against the Sunset’ didn’t play.

“Hello, Jia,” Dr. Lecter said through the recording. “I hope you’ll forgive the deception. There are, in fact, many songs in these files, but as you’ve probably figured out, most are not. I’ve instead compiled lectures on all manner of subjects for you to enjoy. The mind needs to be nourished with knowledge in order for it to grow, and if I’m not permitted to aid your growth in person, then perhaps you’ll allow me this much.

“Others underestimate you all the time. You are blind, and yet you see an alarming amount. It’s almost like a weapon you wield, this facade of innocence. Not even your father gets to see all the shadows you hide in the basement of your mind, and despite your wariness, you have an incredible devotion to him. Is there anything you wouldn’t do to protect him? Would you go so far as to become something you’re not for him? Would you keep your demons eternally locked in their cages to rattle their chains against the bars? Does he know what you did the day we made art of your ba?”

Jia’s stomach twisted at the words, even as a fond warmth bloomed in her chest at the memory. Her ba’s heart had tasted delicious. She could still remember the blend of spices as she’d chewed. ‘Unconventional’ was how he’d described their impromptu dinner since he didn’t usually cook on-site, but he’d made a special exception for her. She hadn’t tasted it again until that first dinner at Dr. Lecter’s house. Human was a memorable meat.

“I look forward to our next game, darling girl,” Dr. Lecter concluded a moment before the next file started playing ‘The Awakening.’ Let it never be said that the bastard didn’t have a sense of humor.

She pulled her earbuds out. An odd restlessness settled under her skin. The beep of Dad’s heart monitor joined the sounds of his breathing. Abigail shifted slightly in bed, her warmth a familiar presence now. Dr. Lecter had given Jia a family, unconventional as it was, but then, he didn’t know how to give any other kind of gift, did he? There was nothing conventional about him.

She’d repaid him her life, and now she found herself in his debt again—a whole family’s debt. 

‘The Awakening’ was still playing when she put her earbuds back in. If Dr. Lecter wanted a family, then she would have to give it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Philip Wesley because he's also great:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/artist/7xaLfXBI5MSy3aNX7m4X3O


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. It was finals week for my students, and I had to grade some 800 papers this past week. I should be back with some more regularity now.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is really long. My bad.

_Five years later..._

The halls of the BSHCI were cold stone. Abigail had spent most of her adult life wondering if she’d ever see the inside of it. Jia had told her to be patient, to study, to work hard. So she had. They both had. Three years of college to get her bachelor’s in forensic science. Another two years working as a pathology tech while she completed her master’s in forensic anthropology. And three more months at the Academy brought her to five years, one month, and twenty-one days since she’d seen Hannibal.

No one could work with him, and Will refused to come out of retirement, if Crawford could even bring himself to ask for that. But Abigail… Well, she’d been biding her time, educating herself and watching Crawford for years. It’d been easy, even with her heart in her ears, to volunteer herself as the next sacrificial lamb to seek Hannibal’s assistance. Crawford had been hesitant because he knew the relationship she’d had with Hannibal and Will. To whom was she loyal? To the FBI? Or to the Ripper? 

But she’d prepared herself for the scrutiny. Her face had naturally softened when she told Crawford that she just didn’t want to see anyone else die. That was what she did, after all, day in and day out. She sat at Beverly’s lab bench and saw the destruction upon body after body, sloppy and careless and _wasteful_. Meat left to spoil. Her father would have honored every part of his kills. Hannibal would have made art of it. And Will… Well, Will liked justice.

She passed all her psych evals, no matter how many Alana and Crawford threw at her. Jia knew every trick in the book. They’d spent long hours preparing everything down to the micro-expression, so no psychologist would see the agenda beneath. Abigail had plenty of practice in lying, at least. She’d done it for her dad for years. Some things never changed, did they?

Alana’s heels clicked on the floor, the sharp tempo echoing off the walls. Her red suit was as angular and severe as anything else in here. She still walked with a cane. The black wood was rubber-tipped, so it was silent on the tile. But there was nothing quiet about Alana anymore. She wore red like blood against bland stone because she had earned the right, bled the right. She’d faced the Devil himself and lived.

They stopped at a pair of large double doors with armed guards posted at them. Alana turned to her, expression stoney as ever. She didn’t smile much these days.

“I still don’t think Jack should have sent you,” she said icily. “You care about Hannibal.”

Abigail offered a polite half-smile that came naturally now after so many years of practice. “What I feel doesn’t matter, Alana. I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Alana glanced at the doors. “And maybe a bit more.”

Abigail’s smile didn’t falter. She was better at that now. “His insanity plea doesn’t sit well with you, does it? It shouldn’t, I suppose. It spared him the death penalty. They had enough to convict him a dozen times over.”

“A baker’s dozen.” Alana’s smile was humorless. “What’s your game, Abigail?”

“Mason’s death anniversary is next month, isn’t it?” Abigail kept her tone pleasant while she watched Alana’s face darken. “It must be hard for you and Margot. You were his psychiatrist for a while, weren’t you?”

Alana’s eyes were positively frigid. “Don’t.”

Abigail’s brows furrowed. “I’m simply offering my sympathies. It was a terrible thing, falling into the pig pen. I was very disturbed when I saw the body.”

“Abigail, this is—”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Abigail didn’t bother explaining herself. The day Mason Verger’s body had come into the lab, she’d been one of the tech’s to look at it. It’d been deliberate on her part to ignore the damage to his genitalia from electroejaculation. She’d even gone so far as to cause further damage, making it seem like the pigs had simply gotten to every part of him. And then she’d told Alana, as any good friend would. 

“How’s your son?” Abigail continued. “He must be almost three now, right?”

Alana recognized the threat for what it was and took a step back. “We’ll be recording your conversation,” she said stiffly. “Anything weird happens, and someone will come in to correct it. Am I clear?”

“Transparently.”

Alana headed away.

Abigail hesitated before she grabbed the door handles, afraid of what she’d find on the other side. Would he still be mad at her? Did he resent her? She’d gotten to live her life with Will and Jia while he remained locked away alone. It only made sense that he might still hold a grudge, and that wasn’t even touching on how confinement might have changed him.

She pulled the doors open.

Books filled the shelves on the back wall. A bed rested against one side. There was a desk in the very center, covered in papers. It was almost like his office, save for the harsh white walls and panel of glass partitioning the room.

He sat at the desk, drawing something. They’d cut his hair. It was too short. His jumpsuit was a flat gray and too baggy for his figure. Imprisonment wasn’t supposed to be kind, but she still resented the indignity of it.

The doors closed behind her with a low thud. Silence followed. He didn’t look up from his work—though he had to have heard her come in.

“Five years,” she said, voice just loud enough to break the quiet.

His hand froze over the page.

“One month.”

He set his pencil down.

“Twenty-one days.”

His eyes found hers across the room, through the glass separating them. 

Her smile was genuine when she said, “It’s been a long time, Hannibal.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak, just stared at her. And then he stood with the same natural grace she remembered and stepped closer. “So it has, Abigail.” His voice was the best music she’d heard in years.

She took in the deeper lines of his face, how the years had treated him etched into his skin. “How are you?”

“Happy to see you. As you said, it’s been a long time.” He looked her over. “You smell of iodine and ammonia. Working in a lab these days?”

“I’m a pathology technician, soon to be one for the FBI.” She pulled the temporary badge Crawford had given her from a pocket and held it up.

His brows rose. “You made your aspirations a reality then. Congratulations.” He frowned. “I do hope Jack hasn’t sent you here in an attempt to sway me. That is...very rude.”

She shook her head. “I volunteered.”

His eyes softened immediately. “Does Will know you’re here? I can’t imagine he’d permit such a thing.”

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

They shared a conspiratorial smile, and then her heart sank steadily. 

“Will doesn’t work for Jack anymore,” she said. “He still lectures, but he’s...retired...from profiling.”

Hannibal nodded. “That’s probably for the best. Profiling took quite a toll on him.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised to see the honest affection still there, but even five years ago, she rarely witnessed anything so warm on his face. “He refuses to talk about you. Jia and I talk about you, but never in front of him. He… Well, I know he thinks about you every day.”

“I’m sure I’m locked tidily away with the parts of him that he thinks I’ve tainted.” He didn’t seem hurt by that knowledge. It was just fact. “Why are you here, Abigail?”

She pulled a newspaper page from her jacket and rolled it up enough to fit into a hole in the glass. He took it with a spark of interest in his eyes. 

“To convince you to help Jack with a case,” she answered while he read the headline. “They call him the Tooth Fairy.”

“And the real reason you’re here?” Hannibal prompted, sharp as ever.

She cast him a meaningful look. “Well, I told Jack that I probably couldn’t sway you. Jia might have better luck. She’s...quite persuasive.”

The warmth in his eyes softened the rest of his face. “She always did have a way with words. She just turned sixteen, didn’t she?”

“She did. Sixteen and a sophomore in college. She tested out of high school last year, so she could focus on ‘meaningful academics,’ as she put it. She’s getting her degree in mechanical engineering.” Abigail was almost envious, but she didn’t need to be as smart as her sister or Will. They could both get lost in their heads, overanalyzing and overthinking. Someone had to pull them out when they got too deep into the woods.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Jia’s always been...ambitious—perhaps to her own detriment.”

Abigail huffed a chuckle. “That’s one way to put it. Once she’s decided something, nothing can stop her.”

“You’ve both accomplished so much in five years, almost like you’re rushing toward something.” His gaze was knowing, as it usually was. “What are you both working toward?”

“Well, I’m getting my master’s in forensic anthropology, and Jia would like to work for NASA.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She kept her face neutral. “I know.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I see.”

“Is there anything I can say to convince you to help the FBI?” she asked bluntly, suspecting she’d danced the line of Alana’s tolerance for this conversation too long. “Or should I not waste my breath?”

“Well, you haven’t attempted to convince me of anything yet,” he said noncommittally.

She shrugged. “The only thing I have to offer you is information—stories.”

His brows lifted. “You would use five years’ worth of family history to barter for my assistance?”

“The key to supply and demand is having something in demand, is it not?” She had a knowing smile. “Is it in demand?”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, and then his lips pulled up into a real smile.

“You’ve grown a lot, Abigail,” he said with a note of pride, “but I’m afraid your offer is not enough.”

She sighed, but her smile didn’t wane. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“You knew I’d say it. No fear necessary.” 

“And you won’t yield on that?”

“No.”

She knew that no one but Will could persuade him, but she hadn’t come here to persuade him. “Well, before I go, I have something for you.” She went to the metal slot in the glass and pulled out a little, red journal from inside her blazer.

Hannibal walked up to the slot when she put the journal through. He slowly took it out.

“From Jia,” Abigail added.

That got his attention—though he did a good job of hiding it. There was just the slightest tensing to his shoulders. Abigail could almost hear Will’s voice in her head, his running commentary on non-verbal cues. At her insistence, he’d taught her everything she knew on how to read a person in body, face, and tone. It’d served its purpose over the years, and it would help her in the weeks to come. It would help all of them.

Hannibal opened the journal and thumbed through a couple pages. “This is your handwriting, and Jia is blind. How is this from her?”

“She typed the original diary entries. I transcribed them.” It was the truth, if a bit misleading. The pen could do things that computer fonts couldn’t, and that was necessary to get the message across. Everything that went to Hannibal was fiercely vetted. Jia had to be careful and clever with her writing.

“The stories,” Abigail continued, “of the last five years. They’re yours, free of charge.”

He chuckled. “Does Jia know you transcribed her diary as a bartering chip?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” She glanced at the door as it opened.

Alana stood in the hall, an expectant look on her face.

“It seems my time is up,” Abigail said tightly, trying to remind herself that this wouldn’t be the last time.

Hannibal returned to his desk. “It was...good...to see you again, my dear. Give my regards to your sister, will you?”

“Not to Will?”

Something dark fell over his face and remained there like a shadow, familiar in its presence and weight. “I do not think I would be welcome back into Will’s life. He must come to me. I am...done...chasing him.”

Abigail figured that might be the case, but she had hope. “May I ask you just one last thing?”

“You may ask. I cannot guarantee I’ll answer.”

She felt Alana’s eyes on her back, but focused all her attention on Hannibal. “Do you forgive us—Jia and me?”

He was quiet a moment. “I forgave you both many years ago.”

No tension. No fidgeting. No changes in eye contact. He was truthful.

“Thank you for your time, Hannibal,” Abigail mumbled before heading out.

Alana walked her all the way to the front doors, as if to ensure that Abigail had truly left the building. That should have been concerning, but Alana wasn’t as big an obstacle as she made herself out to be. Abigail wasn’t worried about getting rid of her, if and when the time came.

She pulled out her phone.

“How did it go?” Jia asked after the first ring.

Abigail descended the steps of the BSHCI with a grin. “Perfectly.”

#

What a curious journal Abigail had brought. Hannibal read through it in the comfort of his office, noting the discrepancies in the font of some letters. It would have been more noticeable in the uniformity of a computer’s typeset, but by hand, they were nearly indistinguishable. So clever were his girls. 

Five years was a long time to put chess pieces in place. What game had Jia devised?

 _Perdonami_ , the odd letters spelled in an entry about a visit to a park. _Il mio inganno è necessario._

Forgive me. My deception is necessary. 

The message was similar to the one he’d left her five years ago. Had Jia learned Italian just to ensure that even if someone found the odd letter, they wouldn’t immediately recognize a message? That seemed like something she’d do. As he’d thought, the years had only given her more practice to sharpen her mind. Did Will know?

“Of course I know,” Will mumbled behind Hannibal. “I made her into what she is. We both did.”

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder at Will’s form staring into the fireplace. Shadows flickered across Will’s stern features. He didn’t smile in Hannibal’s palace anymore, didn’t touch or move closer. Even in Hannibal’s imagination, there was too much anger in Will for kindness.

“You haven’t stopped her,” Hannibal said in his mind’s eye. “Why?”

Will didn’t turn his eyes from the fire, letting the reflection of the flames move across his irises. “It would be futile. She’s too careful...like you.”

“So you’re just going to let her play her games? She’ll trap you. She trapped us before, at only ten years old. She’s sixteen now.”

“What am I doing, Hannibal? Would I just give up and let my daughter win?” Will’s tone was cold and beautifully derisive.

Hannibal pondered the question a moment. “You’re playing your own game, her pieces against yours.”

“Her pieces and yours against mine,” Will corrected. “In the end, Jia couldn’t outmatch me. I still trapped you. But she’s older now, with five years of planning on her side, and you’re going to help her because you want her to win. United, you both stand a chance of winning against me.”

“And you know that.” Hannibal tapped a finger over his desk in thought. “Do you think you can win?”

“That depends on my end goal, doesn’t it? I can’t fail if I refuse to play, if I refuse to see you. Jia wants to create a family. She can’t do that while I still reject you.”

Hannibal hummed tersely. “She plays people, not games. What’s her next move, Will? What are you afraid she’s going to do to get you to play?”

Will finally turned from the fire to look at Hannibal. “She doesn’t need to create a reason herself. She’s just been waiting to give me an excuse to come back.”

“And she knew Abigail and Jack would find one eventually. That’s why she helped Abigail get into the FBI and stay there.” Hannibal’s lips twitched. “Jack couldn’t convince you alone. It had to come from Abigail, too.”

Will nodded. “And she volunteered herself. I can’t blame Jack.”

“Underhanded of Jia to use Abigail.”

“It wasn’t Jia’s idea alone. Abigail is a better manipulator than Jia.”

Hannibal couldn’t refute that. “She was incredibly controlled when I saw her, comfortable in her carefully crafted person-suit. I bet she’s an upstanding member of society and well-liked. Did you refine her manipulation abilities? Perhaps not intentionally. You taught her how to read people, and she used that knowledge to refine her skills. Still, you must have foreseen that as a possibility.”

“I can’t deny her any advantage. She’s my daughter. She must charge her own path.”

“Even if it hurts you?”

Will turned his back to Hannibal again and stared at the fire. “I’m no stranger to pain.”

“Sometimes I think you welcome it.” Hannibal turned a page of the journal. “For your sake, you should stay away.”

#

Will knew about the murders, had heard about them in the news that he tried not to keep up on, so he wasn’t surprised when Jack’s car pulled up to his house. It was bound to happen eventually. There was no one else who could do what Will did, and Jack was always going to run into a killer that required what only Will could offer. 

They stood out on the porch in the freezing cold, holding cups of coffee Will had made. The steam joined their breath in the air. Jack sat at the porch table while Will leaned on the railing and pointedly looked anywhere else. This conversation was going to be unpleasant for so many reasons, not least of which was Abigail would be returning home soon from her conversation with Hannibal that Will wasn’t supposed to know about.

“Don’t want to talk inside?” Jack prompted, looking far too relaxed for why he was here.

When Will didn’t respond, Jack said, “Oh, you don’t want to let me inside.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ve come too far to let the cold stop me, Will.”

“Why should the cold stop what common sense couldn’t?” Will muttered bitterly. “Abigail’s manipulating you. It’s what she does.”

“Harsh words about your own daughter.”

“I wouldn’t say anything about her to you that I wouldn’t say to her face.”

Jack sighed. “So you don’t want to talk about it here.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anywhere.” Will sipped his coffee. “But you’ve got to talk about it, so let’s have it. Just be quick. Abigail will be back soon, and I can’t face both of you at once.”

Jack set his cup on the table. “How much do you know?”

Will went back through the mental log he’d failed not to keep. “Two families killed in their homes a month apart. Similar circumstances.”

“Not similar. The same,” Jack corrected. “You ever think about giving me a call?”

“No.”

If Jack was offended, he hid it well. “You know what it is?”

Will let out a tired breath. “I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to. I don’t think I can be of any use to you, Jack. I don’t think about this anymore. I don’t believe I could do it now.” It was half-truths. Will knew his empathy couldn’t go anywhere, but he hadn’t let himself practice reconstructing a profile since… Well…

Jack pulled out a photo from his jacket pocket and handed it to Will. “Hold that.”

Dead bodies stared up at Will in the picture. He forced himself not to look for more than a second.

“I think this freak is in phase with the moon,” Jack continued. “Killed the Jacobis almost four weeks ago in Chicago. Full moon. Killed the Leeds family in Buffalo night before last, a day short of a lunar month. With a little bit of luck, we might have a little more than three weeks before he does it again.”

Will stuffed the picture into his jacket pocket when he heard Abigail’s car nearing. She climbed out and came up the porch steps.

“Agent Crawford,” she greeted stiffly when she saw Jack. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking with Will,” he answered simply.

Her eyes flicked to Will and then back to Jack. “I thought we agreed to keep him out of things.”

“I changed my mind.”

Her jaw clenched, and there was honest anger in her eyes. Will spoke before she could say something that could get herself fired.

“Did you offer to go see Hannibal?” he asked. “Or did Jack ask you to?”

If she was surprised that he knew where she’d been, she didn’t show it. “Well, Hannibal doesn’t really play nice with anyone, and I thought he might with me.”

“Were you right?”

“Yes.” She glanced at Jack. “He still refused to give his assistance, but he was...kindly.”

Will should have been angry, but he was prepared for this day. It was foolish to think he could ever truly leave Hannibal behind. So he hadn’t. He’d just waited the long years for today when it all came crashing back. Inevitable.

“We went to him first,” Jack said, as if that made anything better. “I didn’t want to rope you back in, certainly not with him involved, but...we need you, Will.”

Abigail came to Will’s side. “I have some things to talk about with him, Agent Crawford.”

Jack took the dismissal in stride and stood. “See you tomorrow, Abigail.” He nodded to Will. “It was good to see you, Will.”

“You, too, Jack,” Will replied numbly.

Abigail pulled him inside while Jack headed for his car. The dogs surrounded them as soon as they were in, nuzzling up to them with wagging tails. Abigail shut the door and took a deep breath. Her hands were steady.

“Did Jack tell you that I went to see Hannibal?” she asked as she turned to face him.

He sighed and shook his head. “I had my suspicions when you left this morning. You were...more excited than normal, and I’ve been keeping up with the news enough to know when Jack is in over his head.” He ran a hand over his face. “I need a drink.”

She followed him into the kitchen, but didn’t speak while he poured himself a glass of whiskey. They stood at the counter in silence for several moments. Will wasn’t sure what to say, to be honest. He knew how this would unfold, as much as he tried to resist it. Profiling had been...addictive. Slipping into the minds of killers, feeling what they felt, and then getting the better of them—he only wished he could have killed them himself. Hannibal had offered that possibility once.

No, he couldn’t spiral down there again.

“You’ve been doing better,” Abigail said finally, “in the years since you’ve been away from...everything.”

He took a sip of whiskey and stared at the amber liquid in the glass. “So why invite the Devil back into our home?”

She leaned a hip on the counter and folded her arms over her chest. “Jack showed me the numbers from when you and Hannibal were working together. They were impressive.” She chewed her lip a moment. “I’m on the crime scenes now. What this guy is doing is… Well, a deal with the Devil seems worth the risk. I didn’t want to bring you into this. I was just going to ask for Hannibal’s help.”

“He won’t give it.” Will’s hands shook when he took his next sip. “He won’t give it unless I’m the one who asks.”

She didn’t argue with that, didn’t need to. They both knew he was right.

“Where’s Jia?” he asked instead of continuing this line of conversation.

“She’s at a study group. She said she’d call me when she needs to be picked up.” Abigail’s phone rang. She looked at the screen, grabbed his glass, and knocked back a decent amount before returning it. “It’s Bev. I need to take this”

She ran off to her room, and he drank the rest of his whiskey in one go. It was several minutes before he went upstairs to his bedroom. His feet seemed to move of their own volition, taking him to the nightstand. Within a drawer was one of Hannibal’s pencils, left there for five years. Will had told himself every day that he’d throw it out. He shouldn’t have taken it in the first place. But every day, there it lay, untouched but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

He took it out now, let his thumb run over the smooth wood and up to the sharpened tip. 

“Why haven’t you thrown it out yet?” Hannibal asked, voice still perfectly clear even in memory.

Will didn’t dare look over his shoulder. “What did you tell Abigail? Did you tell her to convince me to return?”

“I didn’t tell her to do anything, Will, and even if I did, you would never come back for me. Abigail and Jia know that. They know you might even refuse to return just to spite me.”

“Stop.” Will squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath.

“They know, Will. They’ve had five years to figure out how to undo what you did, and the time has come.”

“You don’t know that.”

Hannibal’s arms wrapped around Will, pressing the warm weight of him. “I am an manifestation of your mind, Will. I know what you do. Jia is loyal. You know that. And Abigail wants family, people who will know and except her. She wants to be seen, just as I did. You know that.”

Will dropped the pencil. It clattered into the drawer.

“You knew, my dear Will,” Hannibal continued. “You knew this day would come. You knew our daughters would see to it that it did. We gave them the skills to become unstoppable...”

“Don’t.”

“Unrelenting.”

“No.”

“Ruthless.”

Will spun around and faced Hannibal’s office, complete with the fireplace and mezzanine. One of the rooms they shared in their mind palaces. He hadn’t dared enter it in years. Hannibal sat at his desk, sketching Abigail as she was now—twenty-four, educated, and confident. Hannibal still wore one of his plaid suits, the black and red one Will secretly loved.

“It was good to see her again,” Hannibal murmured. “She’s grown into quite a competent young woman. You did well for her in my absence.”

Will stepped hesitantly toward the desk and sat on the edge, letting his knees touch Hannibal’s shoulder. “Why now? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question? I’m locked away in the BSHCI, and yet you can’t let me go.” Hannibal reached up to cup Will’s cheek. “You could leave me behind, Will. You’ve built a comfortable life for yourself with our daughters. Just walk away. Let these rooms fall to decay or burn them. All you have to do is walk away.”

Will pushed Hannibal’s hand away and stood. “You’re a cancer. You’re either going to kill me, or I’m going to kill you.”

Hannibal’s gaze was knowing. Of course it was. He was a reflection of Will’s psyche. “You could live in a world away from me, but not without me. That was how we got here in the first place.”

“We got here because you couldn’t let go of me.” Will pressed a hand to his abdomen where the hard ridge of a scar forever marked him. “You couldn’t kill me.”

Hannibal stood and encroached on Will. Every step compelled Will away until his back hit the ladder. Hannibal stopped before him, close enough to touch.

“And you couldn’t kill me,” he said. “We could have run away together. You wanted it.”

Will closed his eyes when Hannibal leaned closer, bringing their faces inches apart.

“I will not seek you, Will,” Hannibal continued. “I will not chase you. I will not intervene in your life. The next time you see me, it will be your choice. You can’t use the girls to justify your absence anymore.”

Will’s heart hammered in his chest. He counted his breaths, but it did nothing to steady him. It never did when it came to Hannibal.

“Will?”

His eyes snapped open. He stared at the pencil in his hand. Abigail stood in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Did you hear me?” she asked when he didn’t respond.

He put the pencil back in the drawer and closed it. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

She sighed. “I said that Jia just called. I’m going to go pick her up. Do you want anything from the store while I’m out?”

“No, thank you.” He couldn’t bring himself to turn and face her, so he just stared at the nightstand.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem...preoccupied.”

That was one word for it. 

He took a breath and mumbled, “I have a lot to think about.”

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “Jack shouldn’t have… I told him—”

“Nothing stops Jack when he’s determined.” He looked at her over his shoulder then. “You knew that, Abigail.”

She at least had the decency to look apologetic. “I don’t wish for how it used to be, but people are dying, Will. How will you feel when he kills again, and you’re here?”

He stared at the wall past her shoulder. “You want me to go back.”

“I’d have the satisfaction that you did the right thing.” When he looked down at the floor, she added, “He kills families.”

They were silent a long moment while he tried to breathe past the tightness in his throat. 

“If I go,” he murmured, “I’ll be different when I get back. I’ll be...what I used to be.”

“Jia and I were fine then. We’ll be fine this time, Will.” She came forward to kiss his cheek. “But whatever you choose, I’ll back you.”

He watched her leave, feeling like she was taking his rationality with her.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the song "Endgame" by Klergy:
> 
> https://youtu.be/15ouQkJbvtc
> 
> When there's nowhere left to go  
> Who's gonna save your soul?  
> Tell me, tell me  
> What's your endgame?

_ Dear Will, _

_ Our daughters chose you over me. They chose a comfortable world, and I cannot blame them for that. You earned the right to watch them grow, nurture them to stand on their own two feet and charge their own path. I think I will hear about their exploits. Neither of them seemed to have inherited the desire for a quiet life from you. _

_ We have all found a new life, but our old lives hover in the shadows. Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking, perhaps with a familiar face. I would encourage you, as a friend and lover, not to step back through the door he holds open. It’s dark on the other side, and madness is waiting. _

_ Yours now and always, _

_ Hannibal _

Will folded the letter again and ignored whatever emotions welled in him. He was calm while he picked up the newspaper page that had fallen out from the envelope.  _ The Tooth Fairy  _ was in large bold across the top. He killed families. He would kill again.

The envelope had come just two days after Jack had stopped by, and Will hadn’t found it in himself to open it until now.

Flames reflected in his eyes while he tossed the letter and newspaper article into the fireplace. Hannibal’s calligraphic script burned and blackened. 

It was time.

#

“Are you sure about this?” Abby asked, a note of anxiety creeping into her voice. She was always so protective, and she had more reason than usual to be afraid.

The car rumbled through Jia’s seat, and the dry heat rushing through the compartment was just this side of uncomfortable. Abby ran cold. If Jia didn’t intervene, the car was usually a sauna. But Jia didn’t have to endure it for much longer. This was the beginning of the end.

“I’m sure,” she said easily. “Dad’s going to avoid talking to Hannibal unless he has a reason. I need to give him a reason.”

Abby didn’t speak immediately, which usually meant she was troubled, so Jia reached toward her adopted sister until her hand found Abby’s bicep.

“It’s going to be okay,” she reassured. “Alana will have no evidence of your involvement. I wouldn’t put the plan in jeopardy by having you fired.”

Abby sighed. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Jia. This is a felony.”

“And I’m still a minor. Besides, Alana and Dad wouldn’t let me get charged with anything. At worst, they’ll have some cross words for me.” Jia returned her hand to her lap as the car slowed. “Do you trust me, Abby?”

“With my life.”

Jia smiled. “It’s going to be okay.”

Abby took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “All right. It’s down the sidewalk, about twenty meters. There are a lot of steps up to the front. That’s how you’ll know you’re at the correct building. Alana will be out to lunch with Jack until one, so you have about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Abby.” Jia adjusted her sunglasses on her face and pushed the car door open. “Alana will probably go to you or Dad when she discovers me.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Jia pulled her cane from her bag and unfurled it. She closed the car door once she’d found her footing. Abby didn’t drive away until Jia had started walking. The cold air of Baltimore in January bit at Jia’s cheeks. Faint voices of pedestrians faded into the wind. Measure clicks marked every time Jia swept her cane into something lining the sidewalk. It could have been a building or a stone wall, based on the sharp sound her cane made. 

About twenty yards down, she started pulling her cane a little higher on the right. Eventually, it found the divet that marked the beginning of the steps. She ascended carefully, holding onto a stone railing. It was freezing under her fingers, but she refused to wear gloves. They were a barrier between her and the world.

The front doors were heavy. Warm air rushed out as she pushed them open and stepped into what sounded like a cavernous anteroom. The heels of her boots clicked on hard floors and echoed through wide space. 

“Hello, ma’am,” a deep voice greeted from the right.

Jia turned her head toward the source as she folded her cane. “Hello, sir. To whom am I speaking with?”

“Ah, I’m Tim, the receptionist.” His voice wavered, perhaps as he was just realizing that she was blind.

“Nice to meet you, Tim,” she greeted pleasantly while taking off her sunglasses. “I’m Dr. Li Yuan. Dr. Chilton permitted me a brief interview with Hannibal Lecter.”

Tim’s footsteps drew closer. “Right. Dr. Bloom mentioned you were coming. She’s out to lunch right now, but I can take you to Lecter.”

Jia stashed her cane and sunglasses into her bag, and then held out her hand. “May I have your elbow? It’ll be easier for me to keep up.”

“Of course.” 

A slender arm was placed in her hand, and then they started moving. The halls sounded as spacious as the antechamber. Jia noted a couple footfalls passing them. None stopped. She was sixteen, but makeup and a good suit could obscure age easily enough. Abby had picked out the makeup and clothes. Jia had just trusted that her sister knew what she was doing, and it seemed to be working so far.

Tim slowed and then pushed on what was presumably a door. The hinges creaked, and then a gentle hand pulled her toward something firm. A chair. She carefully sat in it.

“There are guards outside,” Tim said. “If you need anything, just let them know.”

She nodded. “Thank you very much.”

The footfalls receded, and then the door clicked shut. Quiet breathing. Near silent steps that drew closer slowly, as even as she remembered. They stopped in front of her. There was doubtlessly some barrier between her and Hannibal, but she could imagine it didn’t exist from where she sat in her chair. Out of sight, so to speak.

She smiled. “Hello, Dr. Lecter.”

#

The Tooth Fairy cut the glass of the back door to get in. Will followed his path through a kitchen that looked like any other colonial-style home. Cheese half-eaten in the fridge. He walked these halls saturated with the memories of a loving family. Blood streaked across the walls and the floor of the living room. A trail led upstairs. Mirrors broken. Shards of them glittered on the floor. He caught his fractured face in them as he passed. 

The bedroom was a mess of blood and red string marking arterial spray. He stopped here and tried to read the forensics report Abigail had given him. The evidence would tell him everything. He didn’t have to reconstruct every detail. He didn’t have to...see. He didn’t have to…

The parents were sleeping in bed, completely unaware. He sliced the father’s throat, and then shot the mother. The bullet hit her spine. Mr. Leeds rose, clutching his bleeding throat, to try to get to the children. Will, of course, got there first. His steps were sure over the floor as he made his way to another bedroom.

He shot one of the two boys in bed. The other boy was hiding underneath a bed, so he dragged him out and shot him. Mr. Leeds came stumbling out of the bedroom, spraying blood over his door and across the walls as he went. The blood loss was too much. He fell to the floor and died.

And then the smashing of mirrors.

One by one, he broke them and then collected the pieces. Reflections in their eyes. Reflections in their mouths. To watch him.

The mother lay on the bed, sprawled out for him. He removed a glove, sending talcum powder over her. He had to touch her. 

“This is my design.”

His eyes snapped open to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom. Sweat had soaked through his sheets, a problem he hadn’t struggled with in almost four years. He got up and stripped out of his clothes. His skin felt wrong over his bones, like something was trying to break free of it. The discomfort was familiar. Its memory clung to him through the years, threatening to return at any moment.

His phone rang just as he finished pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It was Beverly.

“Hey, Bev,” he answered as he trotted downstairs.

“Hey,” she said blandly. “Abigail said that you’re coming in today. I just...wanted to check in.”

He found a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, along with a note from Abigail on the counter that let him know his lunch was in the fridge. “I’m not going to break, Bev,” he mumbled as he poured himself a cup.

“That’s not what I’m worried about” She sighed. “Look, I know that you didn’t like...who you were...back with Hannibal—back when you were profiling. I’m worried about you, Will. That was… Well, that was hard time for everyone, but you suffered the most. I don’t want to go through that again. That’s not fair to you.”

He sipped the coffee black and took a breath. “I went to see the crime scene yesterday. I told Abigail all of my observations.”

A beat passed before she spoke. “What? Will, you haven’t officially been—”

“He’s different than the usual psycho, Bev.” The image of reflective glass filled Will’s vision for a moment. “He’s going to get worse. This is just the beginning.”

Her pause was longer this time. “You’re really back, aren’t you? You sound like you did before.”

He took another sip. “And how do I sound, Bev?”

“In your element,” she supplied bluntly. “When are you coming in?”

“In about two hours. I have a lecture at nine, and then I’ll head over.”

Her sigh was heavy enough that static crackled loudly through the receiver. “All right. Abigail’s going to be working with us. Are you prepared for that?”

He wasn’t, but his feelings on the matter couldn’t be dealt with just yet. Abigail had chosen to be part of this world, and from what Jack and Beverly had said, she was good at what she did. Her anatomical and hunting knowledge proved to be an advantage. She could identify the kind of knife and blade size just from looking at a wound. She knew how different caliber bullets rent flesh well enough to identify gun type and how far away the shooter had been. She had made herself invaluable to the team.

“I’ve got to make myself breakfast,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Bev.”

He hung up and dropped his phone on the counter. 

_ He kills families. _

The coffee tasted more bitter than usual.

#

Five years had refined Abigail’s face, given it angles and shadows, but that same amount of time had turned Jia from a child into a young woman. She was lean and tall, rivaling Will’s height in her boots. Black slacks and blazer served as negative space for her red blouse. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, falling down to her waist. Brown, unseeing eyes stared into nothing. She smiled with lips painted a dark red like wine.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” she greeted.

He returned the smile. “You are the Dr. Yuan that Alana mentioned?”

“Yuan-Graham.” She folded her hands in her lap and crossed one leg over the other. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you for a very long time.”

“That would make you one of very few people.” He glanced back at her journal where it lay on his desk. He’d almost completely decoded it.

“I don’t have much time,” she said, looking relaxed in her chair. “You’re aware of the Tooth Fairy, yes?”

Hannibal could almost see where she was going with this, but even he couldn’t pretend to know the entire scope of her scheme. “The FBI has been trying to get me to consult on the case, in fact.”

She nodded and leaned back in her chair, looking perfectly at home where she was. “He’s got quite a unique pathology, and he’s very deadly. He kills entire families.”

“Worried about your own family, Dr. Yuan?” he asked, not at all referring to the killer at large.

“Worry implies fear, and I have yet to find reason to fear.” She hummed tersely. “Are you afraid, Dr. Lecter?”

He got the sense that he should be afraid. But of whom? The Tooth Fairy or her?

“Fear usually comes from the threat of losing something,” he said. “What do I have to lose, stuck in this cell?”

She chuckled. “Oh, I think you have a great deal to lose.” Her back straightened as her smile settled into something almost predatory. “Your relationship with Will Graham has drawn quite a bit of attention. Freddie Lounds deemed you both ‘murder husbands.’”

What was her game?

“I’m keenly aware, Dr. Yuan. Mr. Graham seduced me in order to entrap me—certainly an unorthodox method. Special Agent Jack Crawford even approved of such a thing. Could you imagine asking your colleague and friend to bend over for a serial killer?”

Her only reaction to the crude language about her father was to arch a brow. “And it must have seemed awfully cruel of Mr. Graham to let you fall in love and then break your heart. Did it hurt, Dr. Lecter, to find out that your partner didn’t love you?”

So she was looking for the extent of Will’s punishment—if Hannibal had truly suffered enough. 

“I forgave Will his cruelty, Dr. Yuan,” he admitted. “If you’re asking if his punishment of my sins was effective, I assure you that I felt his wrath.”

“Did he make you cry like you made him cry?”

Hannibal didn’t see the use of lying. She’d be able to hear it, and honesty only served him in convincing her that he had served his punishment thoroughly.

“He did,” Hannibal murmured.

Her smile grew. “Do you know why I’m here, Dr. Lecter?”

He was starting to wonder at that actually. “Would you tell me?”

She stood and stepped forward with a hand extended until she found the glass between them. “Someone once described me as ‘exceedingly loyal.’ I think there’s some truth to that, but more than loyalty, I like...balance. One of my psychiatrists as a child described it as ‘a fixation with fairness and equity.’ In short, I don’t like to owe people or be owed anything. For a long time, I have owed someone a large debt, and they made it quite difficult for me to repay them. It’s only now that I have an opportunity.”

“And what do you owe them?” he prompted as he stepped close enough to press his hand where she did.

Her smile dropped. “Something they gave to me as a gift that I took away from them. Do you think they’d still want their gift after all this time?”

An offer. “Dr. Yuan, I would imagine they have thought of little else.”

She nodded. “Then perhaps you can help me repay my debt. I just need one thing from you, Dr. Lecter, and I think it’s in your best interest to give it to me.”

His brows rose. What a confident young woman his Jia had become. “That’s quite a bold claim, Dr. Yuan. What do you want from me?”

“Your expertise, of course.” She tilted her head slightly. “You know something about the Tooth Fairy, don’t you?”

He almost laughed. Regardless of if he answered or denied her assertion, anyone who heard their exchange would suspect that he knew something. People were suspicious to begin with.

“And if I did, do you expect I’d help the FBI?” he asked. “Is that what you want?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me if you help the FBI or not, and I don’t think you’d help them without reason. They’re not who you’re after. Your interest is far more...singular.”

He felt like he was playing chess with her again, except she was also moving his pieces. “Is that what you’re after?”

“As I said, Dr. Lecter, cooperating with me is in your best interest.” She said it so matter-of-fact that he believed her.

“I have some ideas about the Tooth Fairy,” Hannibal admitted finally. “As you said, his pathology is rather unique.”

“And will you share your ideas with me?”

“No.”

Her lips didn’t move, but her eyes were smiling with warmth and approval. “Then thank you for your time, Dr. Lecter. I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

He breathed in, and the familiar scent of her coconut shampoo and Will’s dogs hit him. “I look forward to it...Dr. Graham.”

She receded through the doors, leaving him in the loudness of his own thoughts once again. Something had been set in motion. Only time would tell if her performance here would bear fruit. But he suspected it would. Jia didn’t lose often.

“It’s time,” Will murmured by the fireplace.

Hannibal agreed.

#

Abigail had gotten the idea to try pulling a print from the eye of Mrs. Leeds. Jimmy and Brian got a partial, much to everyone’s excitement. It didn’t match anything in the database, but it was something, certainly more than that big fat nothing they had before. Abigail counted it as another step closer to getting her family back together. The more Will felt like they were getting close, the closer he’d get to the investigation.

“Jimmy, you’re the light of my life,” Jack said when Jimmy displayed the partial print on a monitor in the lab.

“Actually, the idea was Abigail’s,” Jimmy corrected with a smile at her.

Jack glanced back at her. She sat with Beverly at a workbench while the boys went through their findings. Beverly squeezed Abigail’s shoulder with obvious pride in her eyes. They’d gotten close over the years. Abigail would miss her when they had to leave.

“Never taken a print off an eye before,” Jimmy said almost giddily. “That was cool.”

The door to the lab opened, and Will stepped in. His eyes passed over Beverly and Abigail. He only gave them a nod of acknowledgement at their presence. Tense shoulders and measured breathing. He was anxious.

“Hey,” Abigail greeted and extended a hand to him. “You’re just in time. We pulled a partial print off Mrs. Leeds’ eye.”

His brows rose as he took her hand. “That’s fortunate.”

She pulled him to the chair next to her. “I got the idea to check based on what you told me about him having to touch her.”

It was a hook. By acknowledging him as the source of their find, he got more stake in the investigation. Maybe he knew that, but he gave no indication. His eyes were on Jimmy, who looked delighted to see him.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy blurted with a grin. “I’m just surprised to see you back.”

“Welcome back,” Brian added with honest warmth.

Beverly gestured to the monitor, redirecting the boys’ attention away from Will. She knew how much he hated being in the spotlight.

“Right,” Jimmy said and turned to the workbench where a tray of mirror pieces lay. “The mirror pieces all had those smooth prints. Forefinger on the back of the piece wedged in her labia, smudged thumb on the front.”

“He polished it after he placed it,” Will said in that eerie flat tone Abigail hadn’t heard in years, “so he could see his face in there.”

Jimmy and Brian both stared at him, as if they were just remembering how unsettling Will could be with his observations.

“One in her mouth was obscured by blood,” Jimmy continued. “Same with the eyes. I ran an AFIS. He’s not in the print index.”

Brian went into the back of lab and brought out a cart with a mold of the killer’s teeth. “We could have run a ‘Have you see these teeth?’ sort of APB,” he said as he held up the mold. “They’re distinctive. Pegged lateral incisors here and here. I mean, the teeth are all crooked. The central incisor’s got a corner missing, and the other central incisor has a groove in it.”

“A snaggletooth son of a bitch,” Jack summed up. 

“Yes, and he bites...a lot.”

Will stared at the mold. “He may have a history of biting in lesser assaults,” he mumbled, a far-off look in his eyes. “May be a fighting pattern as much as sexual behavior.”

“What’s he fighting, Will?” Beverly prompted.

Will kept staring at the teeth. Before he could respond, the door to the lab burst open, and Alana charged in.

“Alana, what—?” Jack started.

“Jia went to see Hannibal,” she interrupted, eyes fixed on Will. “She impersonated a psychiatrist. They talked for ten minutes before she left, and we don’t know where she went.”

Will took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. His eyes turned to Abigail. “Call her. She won’t answer if I call her.”

Abigail got the feeling that Will was onto them, but she pulled out her phone and dialed.

“Hey, Abby,” Jia answered, like she always did.

Abigail put Jia on speaker as a show of good faith. “Don’t ‘Hey, Abby’ me,” she grumbled. “Why’d you go to see Hannibal?”

“Alana got to you, did she? Am I on speaker?”

“You’re grounded for three months, Jiali,” Will said flatly. “What were you thinking?”

Jia sighed dramatically. “Look, I knew there was no way he couldn’t have something about the Tooth Fairy, and I knew you weren’t going to go see him. So I did. And he admitted he has ideas about the Tooth Fairy.”

“He’s a liar, Jia,” Abigail pointed out, playing her role as a concerned older sister. “He gets into your head.”

Jia scoffed. “And what did you get out of him, Abby? Anything useful?”

Abigail clenched her jaw and didn’t speak, making herself look offended.

“Don’t talk to her that way, Jia,” Will scolded. “Apologize.”

“Sorry, Abby.” Jia somehow sounded genuine about it, even if this all was just theatre.

Jack looked to Alana. “I assume you have recordings of their conversation,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Can you send it to me?”

“Not without Will’s consent,” she hedged with a glance at the man in question. “Jia is a minor, so her guardian needs to give permission for any release of recordings.”

Will ran a hand down his face and muttered, “Yeah, fine.”

“Am I going to juvie?” Jia asked. “Being blind in juvie doesn’t sound fun.”

“No, you’re not going to juvie,” Jack answered tiredly.

Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jia, where are you? You can’t just wander Baltimore by yourself.”

A pause, and then Jia said, “I’m in front of the Academy.”

“What!” Beverly burst. “How?”

“I took a bus.”

“Jia, you can’t just—” Beverly took a breath. “Stay where you are. Abigail’s going to take you home.”

“Fine, fine.” Jia hung up without another word.

Abigail shoved her phone in her pocket and stood. “Let me know what happens with the recording,” she muttered as she shrugged out of her lab coat. “And sorry about my sister.”

Alana rubbed her temples. “I always knew her teenage years were going to be difficult, but she’s really something else.”

“Trouble is what she’s good at,” Will agreed.

Abigail grabbed his shoulder. “I’ll be back after dropping her off. Don’t look at the recording.”

His brows furrowed. “Because you want to see it with me?”

She shook her head. “No, I mean don’t look at the recording at all. For your sanity. Just don’t do it. We can get the important parts.”

All eyes were suddenly on Will, and he shrugged out of Abigail’s grip.

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbled. “No one knows Hannibal or Jia better than me.”

“Will—”

“Don’t, Abigail. Just get Jia home.”

She growled in frustration and stormed out. As soon as she was downstairs and out of sight, she dropped the act and walked at a normal pace. Will might have even believed her performance.

Jia was waiting on the sidewalk out front. Her hands were perched over her cane, and she wore her sunglasses.

“You hook him?” she asked while inclining an ear toward her sister.

Abigail took the cane and replaced it with her elbow. “He’s going to watch your chat with Hannibal while I take you home.”

Jia grinned.


End file.
